


Catalyst

by Scilera



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Norse Mythology, F/M, Family, Gen, Magic, Multi, Norse Myths & Legends, Other, Ragnarok, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-14 21:40:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scilera/pseuds/Scilera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ragnarok was always prophesied as an ending, a wiping of the balance sheet completely.  But death never comes without life waiting to bloom in its wake.  Change is never easy, entropy fights daily with the stillness of inertia.  Ragnarok comes in waves at the crest of every great cycle, but this time something is desperately wrong.  Without a catalyst to provide the energy, the reaction doesn't occur.  Nothing changes and the worlds begin to wither and rot.  No one ever likes change, but without it all will surely crumble.  Can one human girl find the strength to embrace her nature and cure the sickness?  It is, after all, a truly lonely path.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eira

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the incomparable thecookiemomma
> 
> I label this as original fiction because these living ideas came from my own head. Whether fortunately or unfortunately, my head has been saturated with fantasy and legend since I was a child. Therefore, if you find ideas contained within this work that you recognize from one place or another, please don't think ill of me. Know that is why I place the story here instead of attempting to publish. All stories are meant to be shared after all, even if they aren't unique.
> 
> For ease of reference, Eira as I first heard it said is pronounced EYE-uh-ruh with an emphasis very similar to the way one would say Eowyn.

Anna Ferguson, former medical student, took one last look at herself in the mirror. She appeared the same as she always had – too short, bottle-blonde and bony. Tugging at the graduation gown to try and make it look less like a sack, she loosened the pins holding it to the tank top she wore underneath and sighed as the whole thing fell to the floor in a heap. There was nothing to be done but to pin it back in place and suffer through an afternoon of shapelessness.

“At least this time it's a nice color,” she told her reflection. It didn't make her feel much better, but the sound of the bathroom lock being picked from the other side meant that she didn't have any more time to waste feeling sorry for herself. One last eye roll at her reflection – since it was the only person present who understood – and she reached across, twisted the lock and pushed down on the handle. The heavy door, weighted for some strange reason toward the outside, swung open with a slow creak.

“Oh.” Crouched at the doorknob-level was her best friend, Sarah Crawley. “I thought you'd passed out in there. Come _on_ , we've been waiting absolute ages and if we don't hurry we'll be late!” Unlike Anna, Sarah was plump and pretty, with rich brown curls and a pert nose. _Her_ graduation gown fit without any pins. Sarah had chosen it half a size down on purpose and it pulled just tight enough around her chest to show off her figure to best advantage.

“No one should look hot in a diploma sack, Saza, it's not fair,” Anna whined, flailing for balance as Sarah pushed her out the bathroom doorway and steered her into the hall.

“You'd look hot too if you'd let me do your makeup, the right shade of smokey shadow would have made those green eyes 'pop' like peridot – and don't call me Saza, I'm not four.” Sarah's voice was firm as she continued to steer Anna through the various halls and lounges that would lead them both out of their dormitory for the last time. “I swear, Anna, I'd kill to have eyes your color and you do nothing to accentuate them at all! Do you know how many of us mud-brown girls would die to have what you take for granted?” She was trying to take Anna's mind off of the upcoming ceremony with an old argument, it was plain to them both. The attempt was a kind one, for all its nettling tone, but it wasn't working.

“What if Kate doesn't show up? What if she got pneumonia or broke her leg? They'll make me talk and I'm no good at talking at people,” Anna worried, chewing on her bottom lip. As Sarah reached around her to push open the door to the less crowded back stairs, she heaved a heavy sigh and shook her head.

“Kate's _fine_ , Ann. I saw her not half an hour ago preening herself like a bloody parrot in front of that mirror.” They had six flights of stairs to get down and slightly nearsighted Sarah had finally taken her eye off of Anna to watch her own progress. “And besides, I saw you give your final exam for Dr Pritchard last week. Twenty minutes on the latest in metastatic suppressors and her hall had six hundred packed in easy. _Stop worrying_ already. If you have to give the damn thing you'll be f-”

Sarah never got to finish that sentence. It was at that exact moment that all hell broke loose.

The ground shook so hard that even in the dim, windowless stairwell, they could both hear glass shattering in the rooms around them. The first big rumble caught Sarah off guard and she spilled forward to tumble down the stairs at an alarming speed. Anna screamed and leaned over the railing to try and see where and how her friend had landed just as the door to this floor came flying off its hinges with a wave of heat and smoke. The hinges still attached to it gouged her back as it flew past and it felt like being clawed and burnt and stabbed all at once. Anna tried once to scream for Sarah, splayed out on her stomach at the lip of the next flight where the door had left her. She couldn't make a sound and the smoke made her cough hard. Sucking in a slower, shaky breath, she clenched her jaw against the pain and hauled herself back up to squint through the smoke and try to find Sarah that way.

It was always better to look before leaping, she'd been told – except in this case, where a second shock hit hard and pitched her right over the rail. Unlike Sarah, this was no head-over-heels roll down a set or two of steps. This was a six story fall straight down. Anna had just enough time to realize that a fall from this height would mean death on impact when she felt the breath knocked from her lungs, a wave of freezing cold and a blissful nothing.

 

 

 _Heaven is a very odd place_ , she thought blearily. A shaft of light was uncomfortably bright even behind her eyelids. Without opening them – and she was more than a little afraid of the pain that would cause, given the discomfort now – there was little more she could tell about her surroundings. She was laying on something soft, but when she tried to shift and find out its size, a wash of pain made her entire body stiffen. She must have made a noise of some kind because there was movement nearby and the light intensified. A whine escaped her lips that sounded pathetic even to her own ears and she shrunk back from the light source as much as her pain would allow.

Mercifully, the light faded to a much more comfortable glow and she could hear low voices muttering off to her left somewhere. Breathing was uncomfortable, but not overly painful and so she risked an attempt at speech. The first try ended in a coughing fit and that _did_ hurt quite a lot, but there were gentle, calloused hands and cool water to soothe her. The second try was much better, though her voice was rough and hoarse.

“What happened?” Doubtless the first question out of every person's mouth upon waking in a situation like this, it still seemed the most important. The answer surprised her, for it sounded an awful lot like gibberish. “What? Where am I?” Panic crept into her voice. As a student of medicine, she had learned an unholy amount about things that could cause people to sound like nonsense. None of them were good. Again a response came, but it wasn't something she understood. It was familiar, however, and that gave her hope. She lay there in silence for a long few moments before it finally hit her. Mentally crossing her fingers – for hers were too stiff to do so for real – she attempted her last question again and held her breath. This time when the response came she recognized it, though she could only understand two words.

“My home.”

Never had she been more thankful for Sarah's insistence that best friends participate in each other's bizarre hobbies in her _life_. “Thank you,” she managed to gasp out, trying to convey her gratitude at being taken in with the few words she could remember off the top of her head. There was a sudden shift of fabric against wood and then a pause that drew out into an extended stillness, one that lasted so long she was sure she'd been abandoned. Opening her eyes made them sting and water, but it gave her a semi-decent look at her hostess.

She was short and squat and had more wrinkles than one could ever hope to count. From her admittedly bad angle, it seemed as though the woman's proportions were off, like someone with dwarfism or another of the growth hormone disorders. It was such a bizarre sight to see for someone who'd expected to wake up in a hospital – if she woke up at all – that it took three repetitions of the same question for her to realize she was being spoken to. She closed her eyes and shook her head to try and focus. “I'm sorry. Once more?”

The woman heaved a sigh and muttered something less-than-friendly sounding under her breath, but she obliged with what she was _reasonably_ sure was, “What are you?”

 _A doctor_ was the first thing to pop into her mind, but the old Norse didn't have a word for doctors, just one for healers.

“Eira,” she replied, hoping she'd remembered the right word. It seemed to satisfy the old woman, but when she tried to repeat her hostess' question back to her, the old woman seemed offended. She pulled what looked like a ratty old shawl closer around her shoulders before lifting her chin high and answering.

“A dwarf.”

She immediately felt terrible, realizing that in her stupidity she must have slipped and said _what_ instead of _who_. “I'm so so sorry,” she sputtered out, her face twisted in a mix of pain and embarrassment. “I...” She screwed up her face and tried to force her brain to recall things it hadn't seen in years. “I learned Norse tongue in ...” _Shit, shit, shit, there's no old Norse for 'school'_ “... in lessons,” she tried instead. “As a child.” It was awkward and stilted, her mouth stumbling over alien words, but the woman seemed to understand. She grunted out a laugh and leaned forward enough for Anna to see that despite her ugly exterior, her eyes were the most beautiful shade of blue.

“Menia,” she said slowly, placing her palm against her chest to indicate herself. “Menia.” The repetition wasn't strictly necessary for this concept, but since it might be important to keep herself out of trouble later, she didn't mind.

“Menia,” she repeated. The old woman smiled. She was mildly surprised to see that her hostess still had all her teeth. Using the hand that had been pressed against her chest, Menia pointed at her patient's shoulder. “Eira.” Said patient opened her mouth to correct her, but found that though she could remember Sarah's name easily, she could not remember her own. It was quite common after even mild head injuries and was often temporary. She'd just have to use something else in the meantime. Eira meant 'healer'. It would do.

“Yes. Eira.”

Menia smiled and reached over to pull the blankets higher over Eira's shoulders. One gnarled hand reached around behind her and suddenly the room was blissfully dark. Eira closed her eyes and immediately felt a wave of exhaustion, though she did make a valiant attempt to get out one last question.

“Rest now. Talk later.”

And with such sensible advice, Eira found that she didn't mind being interrupted. Sleep sounded so very, very good. There would be time later, she was sure, and she couldn't even remember the buzzing questions that seemed so important a moment ago. A short nap would do her some good. _Yes, that's what I'll do. A short nap and then sort this whole... mess... out..._

 

 

The next time Eira woke, there was sunlight streaming through the window over her bed. At least, she was reasonably sure it was sunlight. Remembering the pain of her last awakening, she was much more careful about moving this time. When she found she could wiggle all ten fingers and all ten toes, raise both arms and bend her knees without pain, she decided sitting up wouldn't be such a bad idea to try. As it happened, both sitting up and standing came as easy to her as breathing. It left her staring at her palms as if she'd never seen them before. “How long was I _asleep_?” she asked the empty room, stunned.

“Just shy of a fortnight, dearie.”

Startled, Eira jumped and jerked her head toward the sound of the voice. It was Menia, the old woman from the last time she'd woken, leaning in the doorway with her arms folded over her chest and a crooked smile on her wrinkled face. “I – how, I mean... You couldn't, but...” Taking a deep breath to gather her scattered wits, she tried again with more success. “How do you know English?” That was apparently funny, because it made the old woman across from her cackle with mad delight.

“I can't understand a word of this Ang-lish tongue, but a dab of spellcraft will let you use ours while your mind recalls where it put all the words. Now come, put on some clothes and come have breakfast. If you're what I think you are, we've got a busy day ahead.” Gesturing toward a neatly-folded stack of clothes on the chair next to Eira's bed, Menia turned and left, closing the door behind her.

For the first time since waking, Eira had a proper look at herself – as best as she could without a mirror handy. Something must have happened to her clothes, because though she was clean as if bathed, she wore only a set of simple silky bra and underpants that she vaguely recognized as hers. The clothes on the chair were most definitely _not_ hers, but they were pretty – if simple. A pair of grey cotton trousers, thin as leggings, lay over a black top that was either a short dress or a long tunic. Atop those were a black leather belt of a make Eira wasn't familiar with and a pair of sturdy black boots that would lace up to just under her knee. It was quite possibly the strangest outfit she'd ever seen in her life, but since it looked comfortable enough – and her own clothes were nowhere in sight – she shrugged and got dressed.

Coming down the steps to the main level, she was still fumbling with the unfamiliar clasp on the belt, cursing at it under her breath until a pair of very tiny hands timidly came into view. Looking up, Eira saw a small girl child, no more than six years old, standing in front of her with a gap-toothed grin. Eira offered her a shy smile and the child giggled outright, taking the belt from her and sliding the end through a silver snake loop before tugging it flat and winding it through the buckle. There were too many twists for Eira to follow along at the speed her small helper moved, but at least the thing was done.

“Come now, Disa, eat your breakfast and leave our guest alone,” called Menia from around the fireplace. The child – Disa – pouted and shuffled off to clamber up to a seat at the rough-hewn table that occupied the center of the room.

“She was helping me, really,” Eira offered in defense of the child in case she was in some kind of serious trouble. “I couldn't get the belt to cinch right. It's not a design I'm familiar with.”

“Seeing as you've gone and put your tunic on backwards, I shouldn't wonder,” Menia replied. Eira gasped and looked down at the front of her top in horror, reaching around immediately to feel for some kind of tag in the back before remembering that such clothing was unlikely to have that clue. Menia's laughter killed her panic, though it did nothing for the flush of pink on her cheeks. “Only joking, lass. Now sit down and eat before I tie you down with Disa there.”

Embarrassed, Eira ducked her head to at least attempt to hide her blush and rushed over to take a seat next to the child. Fried potatoes, some kind of fried meat and fried bread filled her plate with a meal that smelled fantastic, even if it was a touch monochromatic. A glance to her left showed Disa eating as though starved – in the manner of all small children at mealtimes – and so Eira tucked in with relish. Menia sat across from them, her plate heavier on the fried bread and lacking any meat.

“Now, I've got a few questions for you, lass. No, you don't have to stop eating. A healing like that'd starve a body much rounder than yours. Just answer between bites.” Mouth full of potatoes and feeling like she might have just been insulted for being skinny, Eira paused and then simply nodded her assent. “There now, that's a good lass. There's more if you're still hungry after this plate, never fear.”

Eira managed a muffled 'thank you' around another mouthful, but Menia waved off her attempt at manners as she washed those potatoes down with a gulp of what she was sure had to be beer. For breakfast. Imagine the like.

“You're human, aren't you?” Menia asked.

Eira nodded.

“Female?”

Eira paused and looked at her hostess askance, her expression half insulted and half questioning Menia's intelligence. The old woman only laughed.

“Aye, lass. I can see that you're very womanly, but I've precious little experience with you humans. Better safe now than sorry later.” Eira accepted this as wise and gestured for Menia to ask her next question. “From Midgard then, I take it?”

That one took longer, as even with the spell, Eira had to struggle to think back to what Midgard meant. She recalled after a moment that it was 'Middle World' where humans lived. She nodded again and took a bite of meat.

“Hmm. How did you go from Midgard to sprawled at the bottom of _my_ mine-shaft?” There was something sharp in Menia's gaze then, something very possessive in her tone. It made Eira a little nervous, more so because she didn't have a good answer to give.

“I don't know,” she muttered, lifting the dented tin cup to sip at her beer and try to ignore how strange it felt to drink that first thing in the morning. When she hazarded a look up to Menia, the old woman was frowning. “I don't know, truly,” she protested, though the woman across the table hadn't argued. “I fell, I think.” She wrinkled her nose and tried very hard to concentrate on the memories just before waking in this place. “I remember the ground shaking. I remember smoke and fire and falling and blackness, but that's all, I swear.” She chewed her lower lip, eyes pleading silently with Menia to accept the truth of her words.

“Aye, lass, no need to go swearing on such things. Never know whose attention you'd be getting doing that. I believe you.” Eira relaxed, though Menia didn't sound happy about the fact that she couldn't remember, at least she didn't think she was being lied to. There was a moment of almost comfortable silence while the three of them ate their breakfast, only broken by Disa – who Eira had almost forgotten was there – when she stood up to get another serving of bread.

“Who's your patron, Eira?” she asked, her words accented by a childish lisp that even Eira, who was not the biggest fan of children, found unreasonably adorable.

“My what?” She looked to Menia for clarification. Menia shot Disa a sharp look that any child or parent would recognize as a silent scolding, but she turned to Eira with a slightly deeper frown line in her brow.

“Your patron, lass. The god you serve.” Her tone was patient, but she couldn't hide the undertones of concern. Eira had heard that same tone with nurses when a post-op patient couldn't tell her who the prime minister was.

“I...” She hesitated, caught for a moment on how to explain 'agnosticism' to a potentially-delusional underground hermit woman.

“Come now, no human ever crosses the bridge without a god's protection. Who's yours?” There was an edge to Menia's tone that frightened Eira. She knew somehow that to answer 'none' would be a huge mistake, but she didn't _have_ a patron god and she couldn't remember very much at all about Norse mythology. Sarah had always been in favor of Thor's 'smash first ask questions later' approach or Odin's 'staunch traditionalist' method, but neither of those had ever appealed to Eira – or whatever she'd been called when they _did_ learn about them – and she was fairly certain from what she knew of them, neither one would take kindly to her claiming their patronage just to escape a bad situation. She spared half a moment to question her own sanity for having that thought as if these Norse gods were real, then blurted out the only name she was comfortable with.

“Loki.” There was a silence in the small kitchen that made Eira nervous. Disa looked to Menia, who gave their guest a long look over her own tin cup.

“You're lucky, lass.” Menia's voice was low and quiet. “If you'd landed topside, or in someone else's mine, you'd be dead before morning.” That made Eira's blood run cold and her skin break out in a clammy sort of sweat. She opened her mouth, but Menia cut her off with a raised hand. “No, lass. I don't want to hear any more. Not here.” They finished their meal in silence. Even little Disa seemed to know something was wrong, and kept her peace.

After they were finished, Eira helped to clear their places and scrubbed dishes with a hard yellow soap that was cold to the touch no matter how hot she got the water. Menia stood next to her and dried in silence. Shared thus, the work was halved and soon finished. Drying her hands on a clean towel, Eira watched Disa play on the floor in front of the fire. She had two toy dragons who were … in the middle of sorting out a treaty, it sounded like, only they kept being interrupted by an ogre who was spectacularly rude and in search of cheese. She was so entertained by this display that she was startled when Menia gently pushed a folded wool cloak into her arms.

“Put that on,” her hostess ordered gruffly, though her tone was not unkind. “We've a bit of a walk and it's winter even down here.”

Eira nodded mutely and shook the garment out before slinging it over her shoulders. It was hunter green scratchy wool and thankfully lined with some sort of black fur that was sinfully soft to the touch. She fiddled with the clasp and waved a silent goodbye to Disa, who stared up at her in silence with blue eyes that were far too wise for someone her age. She turned to face Menia, who reached over to lift the hood up so that it covered the upper part of Eira's face. She didn't move except to shift the hood enough that she could see, but was surprised to find that, despite Menia's poor proportions, she was easily an inch taller than Eira. She almost remarked on it, but was saved from another social blunder by her hostess' finger-to-her-lips gesture. Nodding once, Eira followed the old woman silently out into the street.

All around her was a world that was both cozy and familiar... and yet strange. It was a disorienting sensation. The street was cobbled stone, but of a color Eira wasn't sure she even had a name for. The houses and shops were all roughly constructed of wood and thatch and stone, but the lamp posts and the street signs were done in gold and silver, sparkling with more gems than she'd seen in her entire life. The sunlight felt warm on her shoulders, despite the cool breeze. She lifted her head to look at the sky, only to find nothing but stone veined with what looked like opal. It was from these opal veins that the light came, making this buried world appear as bright as day. Menia's too-large hand gripped her elbow and pulled her along, bringing Eira back to the present.

“The sun is toxic to us all,” she whispered near Eira's ear as they were passed by a mine train pulled by a vaguely rabbit-ish something that Eira wished she could get a better look at. “The Roots give us daylight without killing us. It's thanks to your god that we have a civilization at all, though most have chosen to forget it.” Eira nodded and they walked on in silence.

For a long while they walked on a straight path whose landscape didn't to change all that much. Eira had begun to grow complacent when Menia yanked her into a sharp left turn down an alleyway. From there, it was an endless maze of twists and turns until Eira was sure they'd doubled back at least twice. Without the old woman's iron grip on her elbow, she would have been lost for sure. When Menia stopped them in front of a section of empty rock, Eira thought perhaps they _were_ lost.

“Should we -” Menia cut her off with a raised hand, waiting only long enough to be assured of her silence before laying that same hand flat against the wall, palm and fingers molding to the curve of the rock. She bowed her head and muttered words Eira didn't understand. Her hand began to glow with a light the color of the Roots, though much muted. There was a low rumble and the ground beneath their feet shook just a little. Eira panicked first with the fear of recent trauma and then thinking that someone would surely come to investigate that shake. She hadn't forgotten Menia's earlier warnings. To her surprise, not only did no one rush over and demand to know their business, but no one else around them even seemed to notice. “Why didn't anyone else feel that?” she asked as Menia yanked her inside the new hole in the wall. “And where did this come from?”

“So many questions for such a small thing,” the old woman grumbled, fishing a stone out of her belt pouch and squeezing it in her fist until it too began to glow. The rock behind them slid slowly shut and there was half a moment of pitch blackness before the stone in Menia's fist was bright enough to light their narrow surroundings. “If you must know, it was magic.”

“Oh,” Eira answered meekly, afraid that if she pressed the matter now she'd be left in the dark and narrow space until she starved.

“Come on then, lass.” Menia's voice sounded a touch kinder this time. “We've a ways yet to go before sunrise.” Eira nodded and followed without another word.

The trek through the tunnel was indeed a long one, made longer by the tricks of light and shadow which made Eira stumble much and lose her balance on more than one occasion. Once or twice they made a noticeable turn, but most of their journey was directed so gradually that Eira was shocked when she bumped into Menia's back.

“Careful, now. Steady. We've only the stairs left, now.” After what felt like miles of unpredictable tunnel ground, Eira thought she had never been happier to see a set of nice, _predictable_ stairs in her life.

When, after counting five hundred steps and still being unable to see any reprieve, she thought the better of that assessment. By stair number 641, she hated stairs. By stair 725, she hated the person who invented stairs. By stair 988 she felt as if she couldn't remember a time when there weren't any stairs to climb. On stair 999, she collapsed, sprawling over an expanse of flat stone too long to be another step. Menia looked over her shoulder at the noise and laughed, though she did offer Eira a hand up.

“I forget how easily humans tire. Come now, up. There's a good lass. That's done. You've only some grass to walk in, now.” Eira accepted the offered hand with a wistful sigh. _Grass_. The word had never sounded so sweet. True to her word, Menia led her young charge out of the mouth of a shallow cave and into a meadow lit only by starlight. Eira looked back over her shoulder only once, but though she could see the mouth of the cave, she could see no sign of the entry to the hellish staircase.

Menia stopped a few paces ahead near an old yew tree – or at least what Eira thought looked like a yew tree – and gestured for her to rest against its trunk. “This will take me a moment, lass. Close your eyes. Rest. You'll need it.” There was something … sad or resigned in the old woman's voice. Eira couldn't put her finger on it, but when Menia turned her back, she opened her eyes again to watch. She _was_ very tired, but it was better to be safe now than sorry later.

Clutching the glow stone, Menia took three steps away from the tree and pulled her other hand from another pouch on her belt, sprinkling something that looked like sugar or salt in a star shape on the grass in front of her. She repeated the motion seven times, all the while humming an odd, tuneless melody under her breath. On the last stroke of the seventh star, she dropped the glow stone into the center where it began to glow so brightly that Menia had to take several steps back and even Eira, back against the tree, had to close her eyes against the glare. The brightness lasted only a moment, though it was another moment more after it faded before Eira could make out anything but the colorful ghosts from the after-glare blocking her vision. When those floaters cleared and the starlight was once again sufficient to light the meadow, she gasped. Standing where the glow stone had been was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen.

He was tall, easily a foot over her – 6'5” or 6'6” if she had to guess – and slender, built like a swimmer. His skin was pale and his hair was a glossy black. _Beautiful was the right word to use_ , she thought, _but he doesn't seem effeminate or 'fabulous'_. She winced at using Sarah's word, even in her own head, but the assessment itself was accurate. When he stepped closer to Menia, his movements were those of a jungle cat. Even his features had a feline cast to them. It wasn't until the old woman lit another glow stone, however, that Eira had to bite her tongue against an inopportune sound.

His eyes were the brightest, most inhuman shade of emerald she'd ever seen.

“What have you for me tonight, old woman?” Even his voice was appealing, a deceptively soft tenor that would have been enchanting if it weren't so _cold_. Eira felt offended on Menia's behalf, but the woman cackled with mirth.

“Another stone's weight of your _upala_ , my lord.” Though her words were respectful bordering on fearful, Menia's tone held enough affection to allay the worst of Eira's fears. From some fold of her cloak, she produced a small leather bag and dropped it into his waiting palm.

“You jest, woman,” he sneered. “You wouldn't bring me all this way for a mere handful.” Nevertheless, he waved his free hand over the bag and it disappeared. “If you were that foolish you wouldn't have lived this long. Don't waste my time.” Menia just laughed again.

“You're right of course, my lord. Damn if you're not always right.” Twisting her upper body around to face the tree, Menia extended one hand back in Eira's direction. “Come, child. It's no use pretending you're sleeping now.”

Blushing at her ruse being discovered – and in front of this distracting stranger to boot – Eira pushed herself up off the ground, brushed herself off and ambled closer with only a little stiffness. When she stood next to Menia, she stopped and the old woman reached one hand across to throw back her hood. Her face was tilted down and her gaze was on the grass at their feet, but cold fingers gripping her chin forced her face up so that she could be properly seen.

“Look at me.” The command was velvet-soft, but something in the tone made Eira – who'd never felt a contrary urge in all her life – ignore it anyway. The grip tightened almost to the point of pain and he repeated the order. “ _Look at me_.” There was a low growl to his voice this time and Eira obeyed, staring straight into his eyes with a defiance that felt both alien and familiar. She didn't know how long the pair of them stared each other down, only that when he looked away and dropped her face, she felt suddenly off-balance, as if she'd been leaning on a car that pulled away. By the time she had her bearings again, the strange man had dragged Menia a few paces away and the two were arguing in fierce, though quiet voices.

Something Menia said surprised him enough to take a step back, his face slack with shock before twisting in anger. “ _You lie_!” he roared, the sound echoing across the still valley and reverberating off the mountain peaks that circled it. It was enough to make Eira jump with fright, but Menia stood her ground, folding her arms over her chest and responding quietly but firmly with something Eira couldn't quite make out. Whatever it was made the cat-man push both hands back through his hair and pace like a caged panther on the grass in front of her. Finally he heaved the sigh of the much put-upon and stalked back toward Eira. Menia followed him at a much more sedate pace, her ugly face made almost pleasant by the smug grin that shaped it.

“This woman says you claim the protection of Loki, doer of evil.” He jerked a finger to the right to point sharply at Menia's smiling face. “Is that so?” Eira hesitated, more afraid of him than she was of the old woman. “You will answer me! Is that so?” The arrogance in his voice rubbed Eira's fur the wrong way. It made her bristle and straighten and lift her chin, looking him dead in the eyes to answer.

“Yes.” No one was more surprised than she when her voice did not waver.

“Do you know that the servants of Loki are killed on sight anywhere in this realm and several others?” He spat the words like a challenge.

“I do now.” Eira rose to it.

“And knowing that, do you _still_ claim it?” he snarled.

“Yes,” she snapped.

“ _Why_?” he hissed, his face only inches from her own.

“Because,” she began, undaunted by the intimidating stance and too angry with his bullying to be distracted by his nearness. “Because I am _not_ a servant and you forgot the first half of his title.” There was a moment of silence where the man looked as if he might have a coronary and Menia tried in vain to smother laughter in her too-broad hands.

“And what is that?” he demanded, his voice no more than a harsh whisper.

“The doer of good,” she whispered right back. Clearing her throat, she tried for a more respectable sound and got it. “He is called 'Loki the doer of good and the doer of evil' because just like the rest of the gods, he can be both.” Realizing that she's probably bordering on heresy for wherever she is and whatever religion she's trespassing on, Eira quirks up one corner of her mouth and goes in for the pound. “Unlike the rest of them, though, he _admits_ to both.” She never was much of one for the penny.

Hearing that, Menia stopped even trying to hide her amusement. “She's got you there, my lord. Go on with you. It's been a long time since there's been someone around to talk any kind of sense into your head. Now get out of here, God of Mischief, before the sun rises and my fair cousins ruin that pretty face of yours.” Believing that to be the end of it, the old woman turned and walked back toward the cave without even a backward glance.

It took Eira thirty seconds to realize just what title Menia had used for this stranger. It took her another thirty seconds to realize that he had lifted her hood back over her face and was wrapping one arm rather tightly about her waist.

“Wait. _You're_ Loki?”

“Yes.”

“And she's just leaving me here?”

“Yes.”

“And you think you're just going to take me off somewhere?”

“Yes.”

“Well... well don't I get any say in this?”

“No.”

And with that, Eira had the sensation as if her entire body were being squeezed through a very tiny hole. Her head began to ache and her limbs began to tremble and as she slowly blacked out the last thing she could remember were rainbow prisms on the edges of her vision.


	2. Elvidnir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don't have a mother – not one I ever knew – so no, I never learned all those 'do's and 'do not's as a child.” His crooked grin was equal parts beauty and arrogance. It only served to fuel Eira's temper. “I think it makes life more fun, don't you?”

 The next time Eira awoke, it was on a small cot that felt far more comfortable than its simple construction should allow. It was cold enough that her breath made clouds in the air before her very eyes and yet she was not uncomfortable. It was an odd sensation, but one that was quickly forgotten in the shock of meeting her new taskmistress. Her gown was spun of finest silk and from her wrists and neck were hung jewelry of gold and brass – though her garment was ripped and stained and her adornments left with gaping holes where gems once had been – but her introduction was simple and blunt.

“I am Griet. My domain encompasses the back halls and servants' doors of this palace, my throne room is the kitchen. The Yetfather has decreed your place. If you fulfill your purpose, you shall be fed by the grace that keeps us satisfied. If you do not fulfill your purpose, you shall be cast out into the far darkness to fend for yourself among the wild and forgotten things. Do you understand your bargain?”

Startled and even a little frightened, Eira was only able to nod and stammer out a soft mutter that sounded faintly like a _yes ma'am_. Given by any mortal woman, such a speech would have been intimidating enough, but Griet was nothing so usual as that. She had been beautiful once, that much was certain. Now, however, the only words Eira could summon to mind to describe her sounded wrong and foreign; zombie, corpse bride. The medical mind of Elvidnir's newest resident puzzled over the possible explanations for Griet's life when her flesh was so obviously dead to the point of decay – not that there was much time for pondering; she was to follow Griet _now_ , first for a bite to eat and then to work.

The rooms and halls of this palace were grand and beautiful, but cold and achingly empty. As she followed Griet through a maze she was sure she'd never learn, Eira was struck by the sheer loneliness this great house exuded. That is, of course, except for the kitchens.

One large room with a high-vaulted ceiling served as both kitchen and servants' hall. Here alone was there warmth and light and laughter, though it all went silent when the occupants saw Eira behind their taskmistress. Swallowing hard, she took a deep breath and shuffled to an empty table out of everyone's way, choosing a mouthful of dry, stale bread on which to gnaw. The silence seemed to her to stretch out forever, but once Griet was back to stirring the great black cauldron bubbling over the largest of the fireplaces, the talk and chatter slowly resumed its normal level.

The first to come and sit with her was a monstrous hunchback with a twisted face and a startlingly gentle smile. He walked with a limping gait, but once seated he could almost sit up mostly straight. “Hello,” he offered quietly, smiling at her across the table and ripping his own share of stale bread into pieces his malformed mouth could manage. “I'm Ganglati. It's ever so nice to meet you, Lady...?”

“Eira,” she answered him with a deepening blush. “I'm a fair healer, but I'm no lady.” Soothed by his soft manners, Eira chanced a more direct look into his face and was greeted with the kindest brown eyes she'd ever seen.

“Sure you are,” said a scullery maid who looked like she had nothing inside her skin but bones and dust. “You're alive yet, Lady, and none the rest of us can claim that blessin' no more.” She parked herself next to Eira and lifted her bowl of broth to her lips. As soon as it touched her lips, it steamed like anything. “Most of us can't even remember what we was called when we breathed air. It doesn't much matter down 'ere. You can call me Hunger.”

A scrawny man who looked as if dirt and dust had caked into his very skin sat down next to Ganglati and fished a forkful of potato out of his bowl. “It's a blessin' really. There's lots of folks with lives they don't want to go rememberin'. Name's Famine, Lady. It's a real treat to look on genuine youth again. Can't even tell you how long it's been since we've had the pleasure.” He lifted the potato to his mouth, only to spit a mouthful of sand and dust out onto the ground.

“Y-y-y-es m'lady. We're … ever so, so g-glad to make your a-ac-acquaintance.” This came from a young lad who couldn't be more than seventeen or so. He was dressed in the rags of what once must have been truly fine armor, but every inch of skin not covered by it was tinted a nasty set of colors, like a bruise that had gone on long enough to rot a little. “I-I-I'm, I'm, I'm -”

“That's Stumble, that is,” Hunger finished for him, shooting the poor guard a lopsided grin as he fumbled to get a good enough grip on his vegetables to make any kind of meal. He nodded his thanks to her jerkily and then returned his attention to the business of the meal. All of them were fairly intent on their food, though it seemed to Eira that only she and Ganglati ever managed to actually _get_ anything out of it.

“It's a pleasure to meet you all,” she replied with a somewhat shaky smile. “And if it makes you feel any better, I can't remember my name either. Eira's more a title, I suppose, since healing's what I know how to do, but it works as good as anything until I _can_ remember.” She might have imagined it, but Eira _thought_ she caught Hunger and Ganglati looking at each other askance at that. “But I am alive, as far as I can tell.” She was hopeful, at any rate. “And um, you'll please forgive the stupid questions, I hope. Nothing's made any sense to me since I woke up in Menia's house.”

Famine laughed raucously and slapped his dirty thigh. “Not at all, young'in. We was all new at one time or another. Ask away.” Eira was so relieved at the prospect of getting all her questions answered that she found she couldn't quite decide where to begin.

“Well, I guess the most sensible first one would be... where exactly _are_ we?”

“T-t-th-th-that's easy,” Stumble started to answer, though he was cut-off by Hunger with an impatient eye roll.

“Sorry luv, but we haven't got all morning, here. We're in Helheim, Eira. Elvidnir to be exact – the palace for the land of the dead.”

Eira tried to wrap her mind around this, really she did, but she was a doctor, not a physicist. “So we're... below Alfheim, right?”

“Exactly so,” answered gentle Ganglati with a crooked nod. “See, you're not as lost as you thought.” His words were encouraging and it made Eira smile again, though the expression was still shaky.

“And uh, the Yetfather that Griet mentioned – he 'decreed my place' I think? Who is he?”

“The Yetfather is Loki, God of Chaos. He assigns a place to anyone who comes here to live.” Ganglati's voice really was nice to listen to, turning dry explanations into tales to capture one's attention. “He is master here. I am his manservant – I take care of his person and his private matters. Hunger is one of the kitchen maids, Famine a gardener, Stumble a guard and Griet keeps order among us all.”

Eira wrinkled her nose in confusion. “How am I supposed to know what I'm to do?”

“You wait until I tell you.” Griet's dry voice startled everyone in the small group, a fact which she seemed to enjoy if her smirk was any indication. “Your place is in tending to the Yetfather's menagerie and his library. Ganglati can show you, my lord is not at home today.” And turning to the room at large, she clapped her hands sharply and raised her voice. “You've had time enough to laze about like yesterday's scraps. Get to your work, all of you!” Eira thought she'd never seen a room clear out so fast. Even hunchbacked Ganglati was quick to grab her arm and lead her out of the kitchen.

“I'm glad it's you that'll help me,” Eira confided in him quietly as he guided her toward a narrow staircase. “I'm afraid I'm next to useless at anything but medicine.”

 

 

The next two weeks – at least what passed for two weeks given the lack of sun and her crude marking of time – introduced Eira to all kinds of wonders. Ganglati taught her many things about her work and her new home. The Yetfather was not often at home and it left her hunchbacked friend with little to occupy him on most days. He showed her all the best back hallways that would take them from one end of Elvidnir to the other in a breath. He taught her how to talk to the stairs so that they'd twist in the direction she needed to go. He taught her how to hide in the shadows that clung to the palace like mourning veils. Most importantly of all, however, he taught her about her work.

Her duties were simple. Their lord and master owned a vast and delicate menagerie, filled with wonders the likes of which the world would never see again. This collection was second only to his library and these two things he prized above all else. It was for these two treasures she had been ordered to care. It was work she loved and so she took to it quickly. It was work she wanted to master before the absent Loki returned. Eira hadn't seen him even once since the night he'd brought her here from Alfheim and that suited her just fine. She did the work that was expected of her and enjoyed the company of beasts and books in the process. It was too hard a life to be considered a happy one – for there was always much to be done – but it was one in which she very quickly learned to be content.

Curled up in a comfortable armchair in front of a roaring fire on her second day of rest, Eira looked up from the book in her lap and saw Ganglati staring into the flames. He looked so sad that she felt her stomach twist in knots and she cleared her throat, grasping for anything to pull him from his gloom. “Gan,” she ventured, shortening his name the way most of the household did when they were so inclined. “Gan, does anyone ever leave this place?”

She only partly got her wish. The question she'd asked was enough to pull her friend from his far-away thoughts, but it did nothing to lift his gloom. “Not anymore, no.”

“Why not?” Eira chewed on her lower lip, trying unsuccessfully to keep the worry out of her voice. “What keeps them here?” Ganglati was silent for so long she thought she'd lost him to his own thoughts again, but just as she turned back to her book, he heaved a long sigh.

“It wasn't always this way, you know.” His voice was so soft that she was afraid to answer him lest he stop altogether. “Thousands of years ago, before Ragnarok came, this place was ruled by Hel, Loki's daughter. She was bound to it and it to her. She cultivated peace and beauty here. People from all races and realms would travel here to see her and her domain.” He ran one calloused hand through his sparse hair. “It was a good time. This Ragnarok should have turned the hour glasses like all the others before, but something went wrong.” Eira held her breath and waited, but either Ganglati didn't know what went wrong or he wasn't going to tell.

“Can it be fixed?” she finally ventured timidly. The simple question seemed to shake her friend, for her shrugged his shoulders and laughed quietly.

“Not by the likes of you nor I, Lady. That's for certain.” Eira smiled back at him and then returned to her book. For a long while there was a comfortable silence between them. This time, however, it was Ganglati who broke it.

“Why did you ask about leaving, Lady? Are you … unhappy here?” There was something so forlorn about his tone. It made her anxious to reassure him.

“No! No, it's not that. Everyone's been kind to me and I don't mind a hard day's work. It's just -” she cut herself off with a sigh.

“Just what?” he prodded her gently.

“Oh, I had so many _plans_ , Gan... I'd worked so hard my whole life to earn a place in the schools that would teach me medicine and healing. It's hard, even now, to get a place in a good school as a girl. I'd just finished my training, I'd found a good place to work and study. There's so much I still want to _do_.” There was a small pause, her next words coming out so soft that Ganglati almost missed them. “I know it's ungrateful, since I'm pretty sure I should be dead, but I miss my life, Gan. I miss my family.” Her voice broke on the last word and Ganglati the hunchback had nothing to say which could comfort her. All he could do was reach across the space between their chairs and pat her tiny hand with his monstrous one.

“There, there, Lady. Give it time. You'll lose yourself in the routine and you'll start to forget. It gets easier then.”

 

 

And he was right. It wasn't until the close of her workday, some three months into her stay in Elvidnir, that Eira's routine changed even a little. It was late, past the hour when she _should_ have gone to bed in order to be well-rested for the day ahead. Instead of sleeping on her little cot, however, she was in the library in front of the fire. A book lay open on her lap and she read aloud from it to her companions.

Sleipnir, her favorite of the eight-legged colts was curled so that she could lean her back against his barrel while she read. The small serpent whom she had taken to calling Nari was draped over her shoulders with his wedge-shaped head hovering mere inches over the page. Last, but certainly not least, the hound she named Fenrir lay sprawled over her legs, his muzzle resting on both front paws, though his eyes were bright and his ears perked as she read.

“... and she was sick with grief and longing, for the goddess Persephone was young in body and spirit and she did mourn the light and warmth and lushness of her mother's domain. The kingdom of which she had been made a most unwilling queen was grand indeed, but all the honor and glory of all the dead who'd ever dwelt in her lord's domain were not enough to sate her longing for life – as youth are wont to live. Her husband Hades, saw that she was unhappy and tried to fill the void within her with many fine gifts. Though Persephone was gracious in her acceptance and thanks, nothing wrought by the hands of man could ever replace her longing for the sweetness of spring and the brightness of summer.

“And so when it came to pass that Great Lord Zeus at last heard the mother's plea of glorious Demeter and sent his messenger to retrieve her from his brother's domain, Hades was not inclined to argue. 'A blind man could see her suffering,' he said to himself, 'and I love her too much to wish her a life withering only in darkness.' But when it came upon the hour of her departure, he was struck with a powerful pang of love and impending loss and he found that he was not strong enough to relinquish her completely.

“A clever and cunning king, he sliced in half a pomegranate fruit, keeping one for himself and offering her the other. 'Come my love,' said he, 'share in one last joy with thy husband who loves thee best of anything, though you refuse to see it.' Persephone was struck by the feeling in his plea; he had been kind to her throughout her stay in his realm and she felt in her heart that it would be wrong to refuse him this one simple thing. And so she ate her half of the pomegranate, kissed his cheek in a kind farewell and ascended Hades' stairs to meet swift Hermes, who was to deliver her to her blessed mother.”

“But that's not where the story ends, is it?” That voice, so velvet-soft and predatory, was the last sound Eira expected to be interrupted by. It was enough to startle her and all her company. One thing Eira didn't very much care for was being frightened. It had a tendency to make her mouthy.

“Didn't your mother ever teach you that it's not polite to sneak up on people?” she snapped. To her surprise, Loki only laughed, stalking slowly closer and tossing an apple in one hand.

“I don't have a mother – not one I ever knew – so no, I never learned all those 'do's and 'do not's as a child.” His crooked grin was equal parts beauty and arrogance. It only served to fuel Eira's temper. “I think it makes life more fun, don't you?”

She sniffed, turning her back to him deliberately in a rather childish show of pique. “No, I do not.” Eira thought it was odd that, in the half a heartbeat before he exploded, she _knew_ he had lost his temper. Strong hands gripped her shoulders, lifting and spinning her harshly so that she fell to her belly at his feet. Her book slid across the floor and both Sleipnir and Fenrir fled as fast as their juvenile legs could take them. Pushing herself up to her knees, she lifted one arm to wipe her bloody lip against her wrist. Though there was glittering defiance in her peridot gaze, she was wise enough to keep silent even as he bent down to place his face intimidatingly close to hers.

“If you're quite through with the 'fit of spoilt princess' now?” He arched one brow higher than the other, a questioning expression that made Eira jealous. It took her a moment to think past that and realize some response was required. She didn't trust her mouth at present and so she simply nodded. “Good. Then listen well. You claimed belonging in the shadow of Loki's wings. I shall _teach_ you what it means to worship a god, princess.”

His lip curled into a sneer on that final term, oozing the kind of cool superiority that made her want to ignore 'do no harm' for the moment in favor of 'punch in nose'. Either he realized that she was on the verge of sinking herself into real trouble or his sense of general timing was impeccable, for just as she drew breath to fight back, he started in again. “Your first rule: Never turn your back to your god.” One of his hands, smooth and pale, lifted to gently cup her jaw. It was as if his own loss of temper had never occurred. “Do you understand?” Even his voice was soft enough to smooth her ruffled feathers and Eira nodded once again. “Excellent. I do so love a quick study.” Without moving his palm from her face, he used his other hand to grasp one of her smaller ones and lift her to her feet. “There, that's much better, hmm?”

Dropping the hand touching Eira's face, he led her back toward the fireplace. Reaching out his free hand, Loki summoned the book without spoken word or line of sight. Only when the leather volume hit his palm with a satisfying 'thunk' did he seat himself in the large armchair that Eira had thrown over in favor of sprawling on the floor with the other pets. Like a pet, he bade her to sit at his feet, leaning her left shoulder against his lower legs. Only when she was arranged to his satisfaction did he return the book to her. “Read the rest of the story to me, princess. You've stumbled upon one of my favorites.” Thrown off-balance by the sudden shift from playfulness to rage to gentleness, Eira could think of nothing else to do except obey. It took her a moment to find her place and she cleared her throat softly before beginning where she'd left off.

“And so she ate her half of the pomegranate, kissed his cheek in a kind farewell and ascended Hades' stairs to meet swift Hermes, who was to deliver her to her blessed mother. Persephone rejoiced and was glad on her journey, for she loved her mother dearly and it had been long since she was in her company, but Demeter upon seeing her child was filled – not with maternal joy and felicity – but with a rising anger and despair. 'My child, my beautiful little fool! What hast thou in thine innocence begun? T'is a storm of ill-tidings you bring, Hermes, to a mother's breast.'

“But Persephone knew not what caused her mother's distress and did her best to put her at ease. Despite all her efforts, Demeter would not be swayed from her grief. She rubbed her face with ashes and tore her beautiful garments. 'For you, my child, the light of mine eye,' she said, 'you have been tricked by a sly and wicked king. You have tasted fruit of the underworld, my love. Its stench is upon you now and no matter whither thou goest, it will follow thee all the days of thy life. It marks thee, O Persephone, as one who belongeth to her lord and master's realm and though you may spend as much as half the year with me, the remainder must be spent below in that cursed realm where your home now is.' And Persephone saw the truth in her mother's words and she went away and wept seven days and nights in a ritual which the farmers now look to for the timing of the spring planting.”

With the conclusion of the written tale, Eira let her voice fade into silence, only then noticing that Loki had a hand in her hair, playing it between his fingers like she would Sleipnir's mane or Fenrir's scruff. She had to admit it felt nice. She then had to fight down a wave of nausea for admitting it felt so nice – even in her own head. As if he could read her thoughts, Loki gave the gentlest of tugs on her hair, something to get her attention only. “Read me another.” And well he did, because the command was so softly voiced that she'd never have heard if she wasn't already paying attention. Turning the page, she began the tale of Narcissus. When that was finished and he commanded another, she read the tale of Eurydice. It was during that story that she felt the hand in her hair still and go limp, heard his breathing slow and deepen. Eira of Midgard had no idea why she read him story after story once he'd fallen asleep. All she knew is that, in the end, she fell asleep there as well, with the book splayed open on her lap and her head pillowed on his knee.

 

 

The next morning, Eira shifted, slowly stretching muscles stiffened by too many unconscious hours in one position. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and leaned up on her elbows. It took her drowsy mind a full three minutes to be surprised that she was on her cot in the little storage cupboard that served as her bedroom. Jerking up to a sitting position, she swung her legs over the side of the cot and muttered a string of curses she'd picked up from Famine as she searched for her boots. Her inability to keep time in this place was never more frustrating than when she thought she might be late enough to merit a tongue-lashing from Griet. She was up very late last night, after all, and without a wake-up rap of some kind, she would have slept far past when was allowed. Finding the boots placed neatly on the right side of her door – and since when did she _ever_ put anything away nicely? – she shoved her feet into them and fled, trying to twist one of her wrist elastics around a messy bun that should keep her hair out of the way. _And Sarah said it was stupid to wear them as bracelets_ , she thought to herself with a grin that was maybe just a little bit smug. Skidding breathless into the kitchen, she found it empty of everyone except Griet, standing watch and stirring her great cauldron.

“There's bread on the table for you.” The snapped statement was crisp, but no more so than the housekeeper's tone usually was. Wasting no time, for she found she was the hungriest she could remember being in quite some time, Eira nodded hastily and slid onto the indicated bench. There was only a loaf of bread and a small cup of water, but everything tasted so good that she felt full upon finishing.

“The others are already about their work,” Griet interrupted the silence of her washing down the last bite of bread. This time there was a hint of censure in her remark and Eira ducked her head in shame. “You were up quite late last night.”

“Yes ma'am,” Eira muttered, staring at a grain in the wood and waiting for the lecture she'd heard others receive more times than she could count. Instead of the lecture, however, she felt finger bones, cool and dry, lifting her chin. She obeyed and looked up, trying very hard not to think about the fact that someone else's _bones_ were touching her. Griet's expression was stern, her brows knitted in concentration. Waiting for the hammer to fall, Eira found that in studying Griet's face she found something familiar. It was the last piece of beauty the old woman had and though Eira had never noticed before, her eyes were a bright shade of apple green.

“Were you injured?”

“What?” Eira was started by the question.

“You heard me girl.” Griet was beginning to lose patience. “Were you hurt last night when the master came home?”

And suddenly Eira got a very uncomfortable idea of the question Griet was really asking. Scrambling backwards, she knocked over the bench but managed not to fall, shaking her head the whole time. “No, nothing like that. He scared me a little and had me read for a while, that's all.”

That wasn't _quite_ all, but Eira wasn't about to stir trouble by opening her mouth.

Griet sighed. “Very well. Go on with you. I fed the beasts their morning meal.”

“Thank you!” Eira called, dashing out of the kitchen before Griet decided to change her mind and give her a _real_ scolding.

 

 

Eira was still running when she turned through the doorway that lead to the land behind the palace, where the bulk of the Yetfather's menagerie stood. She slowed down enough to check in on each grand enclosure, saying her 'good morning's to her feathered, furred and scaled charges. The stables were the halfway point of that journey, but when she ducked inside, she was surprised to find one of the unicorn mares already in cross ties.

“Hello, pretty,” she greeted the mare softly, running a hand down her neck and stepping around the lead post to scratch the place just above the horn that no unicorn could ever reach themselves. It was the quickest way to make friends with one, she'd found, and it also gave her the chance to lift the heavy forelock and check for distinctive markings. “Aha,” she crooned, leaning down to kiss her soft muzzle. “I thought that might be you, Lady Ursa.”

“Lady what?” The question startled her, though the voice was familiar. Jerking to her left, Eira saw Ganglati limping out of the tack room with a box of grooming tools in his arms.

“Ursa,” she answered him, stepping nearer to take the box from him and carry it the rest of the way. Ganglati let her take the load – fewer things would be spilled with her even gait – but he looked puzzled at the answer.

“Why do you call her that?”

Eira flushed, oddly embarrassed by the private names she'd given the creatures under her care. “Ursa is a constellation of stars in my sky,” she explained without looking at him, bending down to pick a rubber curry comb from the box and slipping her hand through its handle and making circles with it down the side of the mare's neck. “I've called them all by constellations and stars. Ursa, Sirius, Polaris, Orion, Aries, Cassiopeia, Scorpia.” Ganglati smiled but shook his head.

“Those are pretty words, Lady, but those aren't their names. And you,” he said to the mare, rubbing the bridge of her muzzle and playfully scolding. “Why didn't you correct her, hmm?”

 _ **Because Ursa is much prettier than Hvitna.**_ Ganglati laughed, a knowing look in his kind brown eyes.

“And I suppose the fact that it didn't announce on introduction that you weren't born this white had nothing to do with it?” Ursa – Hvitna – _the mare_ , Eira decided as she stood there, frozen to the spot, did a very good job at appearing as elegantly innocent as any courtly lady, and _she_ didn't have the advantage of a fan to hide behind.

“I – but … how?”

 _ **The same way that all things speak when their mouths refuse to make the words.**_ Eira imagined she heard a musical sort of laughter. There wasn't any way she could really argue with that logic, either, though her mind struggled to accept it.

“Well, why didn't you ever say you could talk?” she demanded, feeling out of her depth moreso than usual.

Hvitna snorted and tossed her head. _**You never asked,**_ she answered primly and Eira supposed that was true. _**Now, can we please go back to this grooming business? I found a particularly sweet patch of grass this morning and I don't want those gluttons to mow it all down before I get a share.**_ She sounded so imperious, as though she were a queen discussing matters of state and not a mare concerned with a mouthful of grass. It made Eira laugh, in spite of herself.

“All right, all right, easy there Majesty. We'll have you back out in a moment.” And they did.

 

 

Eira's routine very quickly went back to normal – or at least, what approached normal in this place. If Loki set foot in the palace at any point over the next month, she did not see him and Ganglati did not say. At first she was nervous and careful to keep only to her specific work and then retreat to the relative safety of the servants' halls, the kitchen and her own closet quarters. She was a cautious girl only by nurture and not from nature, however, and it was not long beyond the month after her last encounter with the palace master that she was once again at ease.

That afternoon had been particularly warm and the young hounds and puppies had been anxious to get out of their kennels. Hvitna's secret had proved true of the others in her charge as well and Eira had given them all a lecture on good manners and what the rules of being outside would mean. Only after she'd received enthusiastic assent from them all did she free them.

It had been a good day. With the wolves and hounds of Elvidnir at her heels, Eira had gotten to explore more of the land surrounding the palace than she'd ever dared before. The woods were lovely, but something about them made her sad and she'd retreated to the warmth of the fields. There she was content to gather wild plants that looked familiar to her. She couldn't explain why she knew what each one was, only that she had memories of gentle, wrinkled hands showing her how to prepare each one and a kind, crackling voice telling her their uses. This one could be boiled in spring water until it was a syrup that would relieve pain. That one could be dried and ground into powder and paste to heal bruises and smooth scars.

She lost several hours hunting and picking these plants, but when a cold nose bumped against her hip, she realized it was well beyond the time she'd meant to have them home by. Reaching down, she rubbed the ears of the red wolf that had nudged her, recognizing her as Amma, one of the oldest of the breeding bitches in Eira's care.

“Can you call them in for me, please? I don't know that I can whistle loud enough.”

Amma smiled the toothy smile of her kind and sat back on her haunches without hesitation. Lifting her greying muzzle to the ink black skies, she loosed a howl that made Eira's hair stand on end. “Creepy,” she muttered under her breath. From the blackness of the woods, the rest of her charges bounded out to meet her. “But useful.”

 _ **You'll make me blush, pup.**_ Amma's dry humour made her grin, but she was soon overtaken by her pack of now-filthy miscreants and for a while there was nothing but the chaos of wagging tails and dancing paws overlaid by the yipping and whining of all those who wanted to tell _their_ adventure first. _**That is quite enough out of you.**_ Amma's voice overpowered them all and with one simple command the old she-wolf had reined in the lot of them. _**You'll each have a turn by the fire, but only after you've cleaned up and eaten. You're a filthy sight and I wouldn't have the Yetfather catch**_ _ **me**_ _ **in such a state.**_ It worked. Every one of her three dozen charges went sprinting back down toward the kennels, leaving Eira and Amma to follow at a more serene pace.

 

 

Later that evening, Eira sat in front of a roaring fire, surrounded by what passed for the 'tools of her trade' in this world and with a black yearling pup sprawled half in her lap. With only a small pair of silver scissors, Eira carefully cut away the blood-matted fur along his foreleg. One snip must have tugged on sensitive skin; he whimpered and the leg jerked out of her grasp.

 _ **Enough of this,**_ Amma's voice was gentle, but brooked no argument. Hauling herself up from her own sprawl nearer the fire's warmth, she lowered her bulk carefully onto Eira's patient. _**If you cannot be still by your own strength while the healer tends you, then I shall do it for you.**_ There was something maternal in the old she-wolf's dry voice and Eira wondered for a moment if this injured rascal was one of her offspring. _**Most of our pack now is, yes. My pups or the pups of my pups.**_ Eira was startled and she looked up into a very close pair of wise amber eyes.

“I didn't say that out loud,” Eira protested cautiously.

 _ **Neither did I,**_ Amma responded simply. Eira waited for her to elaborate, but the wolf seemed content to be silent, only blinking at her and panting lightly as she braced herself against her packmate.

“Oh.” It took Eira longer than she would have liked to admit, but it did eventually click. “How does that work?” Amma laughed a soundless wolf-laugh, her amusement shown in the pull of lips over teeth.

 _ **When you've cleaned the wound and sewn it closed, his body will heal until it looks as though the wound never was. When you strike metal against stone it sparks a flame. When I combine a mate's essence with my own, I can grow new life. How do those things work? How does anything do what it does? These are questions we do not ask. We simply accept.**_ Eira felt a momentary urge to explain how blood clotting, wound repair and reproduction actually worked, but considered her current audience and thought better of it.

“Because you're a wolf, you just accept it,” she replied instead, lowering her head to dab a wet cloth at the slice up the pup's leg, now that the fur had been trimmed away.

 _ **Because I accept it, I am happy.**_ That was enough to surprise Eira and she lifted her head once more to give her friend a sharp look before returning to the task at hand. Her gentle cleaning soon showed her the extent and depth of the wound. She frowned.

“It's quite deep, especially for this part of his leg. It'll heal better if I stitch it before I bandage it.” And though this was her area of expertise, she looked to Amma for permission. It was, after all, her son.

_**Do what must be done.** _

Eira gritted her teeth, nodded sharply and reached behind her into the basket she'd used to gather plants that afternoon. Pulling a small bulb-like flower bud from its stem, she chose two others like it and held them in her palm near the black pup's head. “Here, hold these in your mouth and suck on them. They don't taste nice, but they'll make you sleepy and dull the pain.” He hesitated but obeyed, though the low whine that escaped him when he tasted them was quite descriptive of their foul nature.

There was a cloth on the ground next to her filled with various pieces of metal she might need minus the scissors she'd already used. She'd drafted a lot of them from Griet and had set them to boil when the poor pup first limped over to tell her about the sharp rock in the creek bed. Flowing water anywhere here was icy to the touch, she knew, the numbness from playing in some was probably what kept him from noticing until he did. Reaching toward that cloth, she drew a sturdy needle and some saddler's thread Ganglati had given up just in case.

Threading the needle took concentration. It wasn't shaped like the ones she'd used to practice on cadavers or even the ones she'd used for live patients. Only once the thread was through and the end knotted did she release a breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding. Once more she glanced up to Amma. “The flowers should have taken effect by now, but I need you to keep him steady in either case. You ready?” The old she-wolf nodded and Eira took a steadying breath, then began.

It wasn't as difficult as she'd feared. She had no idea what the flowers were called that she'd given him, didn't know why she knew what they'd do, but she _did_ remember this. There must be something to 'muscle memory' because once she had the needle and thread in hand, she fair to flew through the motions, sealing the wound and securing the thread at the other end in only a moment. Her face lit up with triumph, the satisfaction twisting her lips into a smile as she dabbed another wet cloth along the closed seam, the last effort to clean it before she applied the bandage.

“You're quite good at that,” observed a familiar voice over her shoulder. Eira jumped and had to spend the next few moments soothing her disoriented patient back to complacent slumber. Only Amma wasn't concerned, not even a little. She turned bored golden eyes toward the Yetfather and yawned.

_**Do you never tire of frightening those weaker than you, pup?** _

He waved a dismissive hand in her direction, crouching next to Eira and watching her arrange the linen to the right size for bandages. “Why didn't you tell me you could do this?” he asked softly. For once, Eira thought, he didn't sound arrogant and cold, more like a child who'd stumbled onto something glorious and outside their reckoning. It made her smile against her wishes.

“I thought my name would have made it obvious,” she teased him, lifting the injured leg by its paw. “Hold this steady for me? I'll show you how to wrap the bandage.” To her surprise, he took the paw without another word and watched intently as she slowly wound the linen around the ankle and slowly upward until she'd thoroughly covered the stitched wound. She reached around him for the scissors and cut the strip, tucking the loose end into the top to keep it secure. Only then did she gently take the paw from him and lay it across its mate in a more comfortable position for the patient. Holding a finger to her lips, she stood and beckoned for him to follow her out as Amma settled herself against the sleeping pup's back.

Once in the hall, with the door shut quietly to keep any noise from disturbing them, Eira turned to look up at her companion and was startled by the look on his face of … frustration, perhaps, or irritated confusion. His eyes met hers and she folded her arms over her chest to smother the feeling of guilt that always followed being caught staring. “Well, good night then.” She turned and started walking down the hall toward the kitchen stair. Needless to say, when she blinked between strides and suddenly he was right in front of her again, she was startled enough to make her jump backwards. “Shit!” Once she felt like her heart wasn't going to attempt to leap out of her mouth again any time soon, she managed a glare up at him. Given the close proximity, his height and the extent to which she had to crane her neck to glare, it wasn't a very intimidating one. “Did you have a reason for scaring me like that or was it just for fun?” She mentally cringed; that tone of archness was not like her at all, and only likely to get her into more trouble.

“I do not know your name.” Now that, Eira did not expect.

“What?”

“You said your name would make your knowledge obvious, but I do not know your name.” He sounded exasperated, as if trying to explain physics to a toddler.

“Oh.” Seeing that she grasped it at last, his expression softened – expecting, no doubt that she would now rectify the situation. “You mean you magic-portal-jumped me into the land of the dead and set me up to walk your dogs, groom your horses and dust your books for the last four months, threw me to my knees and made me read you to sleep while you played with my hair like some sort of cat, and _you don't even know my name_?” She even ticked each of his 'sins' off on her fingers. He was disappointed. No, actually, he was shocked. He obviously hadn't expected to rouse her temper.

“You never offered it and a situation where it might be important never arose.” That insufferably superior tone was back. It made Eira see red.

“A situation where it might be... You're one hell of an arrogant son of a bitch, you know that?”

Now _that_ shocked him properly. It sounded like an insult – though, admittedly, one he was not familiar with. Nevertheless, only a fool does not know when he's being called out. Eira saw the oncoming storm in his glittering gaze; she sensed the imminent danger and she was genuinely frightened. Her apparent inability to keep her mouth _shut_ with him might have just gotten her killed. Fueled by fear and adrenaline, she thought quickly.

“I'll tell you my name,” she offered meekly. “And I'll add sincere apologies.” _That_ part seemed to catch his attention. Eira didn't know if she was proud or just relieved that she had read him correctly. His face, brought to the height of expressiveness by her cheek, slowly shifted into blankness. He was not a fool, she knew.

“If?” he queried in that sinfully smooth voice. There was more to this than simple capitulation.

Eira smiled at him, though there was a sadness in her peridot gaze. The openness of the expression unsettled him. “All you have to do is _ask_ me for it.” Ask. Not order. Not command. _Ask_. The discomfort on his face flashed with a strangely childish indignation and then smoothed out into his usual blankly arrogant look. He even raised his chin just a fraction.

“The gods do not lower themselves to begging boons from the mortals who should give thanks for the favor of their notice.” The resemblance between Loki and Hvitna at that moment struck Eira hard. She would not have been surprised to see him sniff haughtily at the very thought of having to _ask_ instead of _command_. It made her want to laugh, but it also made her sad. This was not a silly unicorn mare who could afford entire ages of frivolity. Sighing deeply, she shook her head and dropped into the perfunctory bow she'd seen her father use when dismissing nobility who'd overstayed their welcome.

“Then we have nothing further to say to one another. Good night.”

And before even _he_ could formulate some reply that would keep her in place just long enough for him to regain the higher ground, Eira faded into the shadows that engulfed the hall corner and was gone.

 


	3. Helheim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“But I will not hold the cup for you this time, Silvertongue. Have a care how you proceed.”_

 

 

Eira did not see Loki when she woke up the next morning. She did not see him that night or the next one or the one after that. It worried her. At first it frightened her because she knew a predator's greatest strength was in the surprise of the ambush. If she could not see him, she'd never see his retribution coming. When neither he nor any sort of punishment reared their respective heads, her fear retreated a little. Just a very little. It didn't help that she had that creepy sensation of being watched almost all the time. It also didn't help that Ganglati was kept quite busy, which meant their master _had_ to be in the palace somewhere and not simply off on another one of his mysterious 'disappearances'. It _really_ didn't help that she kept seeing the shadows move – the way they did when someone entered or left their embrace – but she never saw a soul go in or come out. She saw emerald eyes everywhere she looked and heard the softness of his voice in the sighing of the wind through the windows.

It terrified her and that made her angry. She was furious – at him for stooping to exacting his revenge in such a childish way and at herself for being frightened by it – and its one blessing was to give her the strength to stiffen her spine and lift her chin. He might terrify her half out of her wits, but she didn't have to give him the satisfaction of seeing it.

And then one day, almost as soon as she'd begun to get used to the weird feeling of being stalked all the time, it stopped. All the shadowy flutters, the eyes, the voices, all of it. Instead of being a relief, it only concerned her more, for it meant that something new was coming and Eira _much_ preferred the devil she knew to the one that she didn't.

It didn't surprise her then, when her day-of-rest afternoon was interrupted by a very satisfied-looking god perched on the arm of her chair out of thin air. It did, however, further sour her already irritated mood. Aside from the flick of a glance to determine that yes, actually, he really was there, she determined to ignore him completely. Perhaps he'd become bored and leave her alone.

She never had luck that good.

“Not going to greet your god?” he breathed against her ear. “Why, _Eira_ , I'm disappointed in you.” He clicked his tongue in a very good imitation of a disapproving mother, but he didn't pull back from her ear. She did, though. Twisting far enough back to look at him finally, Eira scowled.

“You cheated,” she accused him, regretting the words the instant they left her lips. What _was_ it about this man that drove her to verbal suicide every time she opened her mouth?

He placed a hand on his own chest, his face the very picture of shock and dismay. “Cheat? I most certainly did no such thing.” When Eira did not look convinced, he continued, again using that tone of gentle condescension as if she were a particularly dense child. “You said you would tell me if I asked. I _could_ not ask, so I found out my own way.” She looked ready to launch in on another tongue-lashing that would surely cast doubts on her sense of self-preservation, but _that_ stopped her dead. She looked at him long and hard, scrutinizing something not even she really understood.

He couldn't ask... She didn't know if there was really some other-worldly restriction on such a thing or if he was just being an ass. _But he didn't command you, either,_ a traitorous voice whispered in the back reaches of her mind. _He could have threatened you, ordered you, forced you, snapped you in two... but he didn't. He didn't do what you wanted, but he could have done much worse instead._ Heaving a sigh, Eira spared a moment to mourn the fact that the irritating voice sounded so _reasonable_. It really wasn't fair. Especially since he was still perched on the arm of her chair, examining his fingernails and looking like nothing more than a spoiled princeling.

“Alright, then.” Her acceptance was grudging but it was enough to bring out a smile brighter and more beautiful than anything she'd ever seen.

“Does that mean I'm forgiven then, princess?” She couldn't stop staring. No wonder this creature was feared even by gods. “Well?” he pressed, the faintest hint of danger lurking behind his eyes. It snapped Eira out of her fascination and she realized he was waiting for some kind of response.

“I suppose it does, yes.” This time the acceptance wasn't so grudging and she hated herself a little bit for that, but since he'd gotten what he wanted, she returned her attention to her book, fully expecting him to disappear for another few months and leave her in peace.

After sixteen more pages of text, Eira realized something was wrong. She'd read every page carefully, but she could not for her life remember a single thing. Slumping back against her chair and massaging her temples, she debated the merits of trekking across the palace for some of her pain-relieving syrup versus the merits of simply closing her eyes and waiting for the headache to ease. It was as her hands fell back to rest on the book in her lap that she saw her uninvited company remained.

“Why are you still here?” she demanded, not quite rude but definitely less than pleased.

“I wasn't finished.”

“Then why didn't you say something?” Loki looked at her as if she'd just asked him what color grass was.

“Because I require your full attention,” he explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And you were not yet able to give it. Have you sufficiently recovered your wits, now?” Eira gaped at him – an expression she knew made her look somewhat like a beached salmon and would definitely _not_ help to assert an impression of her intelligence – and forgot all about her resolution to be smart and keep a civil tongue in her head.

“Do you have even the slightest idea of how to have a civil conversation without oozing 'arrogant ass'?” Despite the harsh words, the tone was open, a genuine, scientific curiosity prompting her to examine him like some new puzzle to be worked out. He stiffened, but did not lash out. She supposed that was an improvement.

“I do know, actually.” Eira had met royalty with less of an attitude. She couldn't remember who precisely or why she'd met them, but she knew in her gut that this godlet topped every last one.

“Then why don't you do it?” A little bit of her own attitude crept into that question. A lack of knowledge was one thing – Eira understood it and could forgive it without hesitation – but willful ignorance just made her mad. Her companion, perched on the arm of her chair and now half-draped over the back of it like some pale jungle cat, gave her a long, intense stare. It made her stomach go cold and twist in her gut, but something gave her enough anger to hold her own rather than lower her gaze and curl up in a ball the way she desperately wanted to. There was no way this could end well.

“Because I'd have to lie,” he finally answered softly, watching her closely to judge her reactions. Eira's eyes narrowed, but she kept a rein on her tone when she spoke.

“You're the God of Lies,” she parried. “Since when is that a problem?” That made him laugh, a sudden sound that startled her.

“You brilliant little fool.” He grasped the back of her neck and kissed her temple before squeezing her shoulder in a manner that reminded her of her brothers. “I don't know whether to mock you for getting it wrong or be flattered you somehow mistook me for Odin Allfather.”

“Huh?” Not her most _graceful_ response, but she was still mildly dazed by the whole kiss-on-the-forehead thing and he thought she was an idiot anyway.

“Nevermind, I'll explain later. The point I was _trying_ to make,” he began, giving her a faux-stern look that only made her giggle, “was that to be as 'conversationally appealing' as you suggest, I'd have to lie.” Eira hated herself a little bit for the giggling.

“Again, not seeing the problem.”

“If you'd let me finish, princess, I'd be glad to explain.” Loki paused long enough to give her space to interrupt him again if she was going to, but this time Eira simply folded her hands primly in her lap and gave him a look that clearly said 'impress me'. “I make it a habit not to lie to people I live with.” His voice was quiet and his mien had fallen into seriousness with an alarming speed. “After a while it becomes an alarming amount of work and once you're in past a certain point there's no way to relax, no method to simply _be_. Home is meant to be your safe place and it can't be that if you're walking on metaphorical eggshells all the time, though now that I think about it, literal eggshells probably wouldn't be very nice either.” Eira was sure that if there were such things as x-ray machines in Helheim, they'd find extensive spinal damage from all this conversational whiplash.

“So,” she began hesitantly, still not entirely convinced this wasn't some elaborate ruse to make her come to the wrong conclusion and be laughed at. “You'd rather be rude than lie?” He looked at her again like she was the first among fools.

“Not all the time, no. People who have something I want tend to react poorly to bad manners or truly any hint of honesty when it comes to their person.”

“But what if someone you lived with had something you wanted?” Eira couldn't understand why her mouth kept running away with itself and asking questions she hadn't given it permission to ask.

“Why, I'd order them to comply, of course.” The look on his face, however, showed just how likely he thought it would be that anyone _here_ could possibly have anything of interest to him.

“Really?” she asked, brows raised and head tilted to one side as she tried unsuccessfully to smother the crooked smirk that was valiantly attempting to twist up the corners of her mouth. He nodded. “And how's that working out for you so far?” She felt a momentary twinge in her shoulder as his grip there tightened, but just as soon as she could blink he'd released it, pulling back with just a tap of his fingertip to the end of her nose.

“Touche,” he replied, his own mouth curved with indulgent amusement. She barely had enough time to register that he wasn't losing his temper or hurling her to the floor again before he was gone, vanished right from his perch. Heaving a sigh, she attempted to go back to her reading and pretended very hard that wasn't a trick she'd like to know.

 

 

 

The next evening after everyone's work had finished found Eira in the kitchens at the table her little group usually occupied for breakfast. Stumble sat to her left and Ganglati sat to her right, while Hunger, Famine and one of Hunger's maid-friends whose name Eira couldn't remember sat across from them.

“Aw'right now, child. Listen up close, y'hear?” Famine's low, creaky drawl never failed to draw a smile to her lips. “This here's the best dice game ever invented. My grandpappy taught me this when I was knee-high to a grasshopper and _his_ grandpappy taught him.” Considering how old Famine looked, Eira could only conclude that this game had been around for an uncomfortably long time.

“What makes it so special, do the dice turn into tiny pigs and dance across the table if you win?” she teased him and was rewarded by a barking guffaw that only made her grin wider.

“Naw, nothin' so special as that – but damn if I wouldn't like to see 'em do that one day. This is the best dice game you've ever seen because there's no way to cheat.” Eira looked at him sideways.

“There's always a way to cheat, sir. Always.” The filthy gardener reached out to tweak the end of her nose and she went a bit cross-eyed trying to check it for a smudge of dirt.

“Not this way, young'in. This game's cheat-proof.” He paused then and gave her his own sidelong look. “And how many times I got ta tell you I ain't never been a 'sir' in my whole life?”

“Always once more, Miss Swann, as always,” Eira chirped back at him, only to find the rest of the table – minus the nameless maid who looked a bit bored – chorusing along with her before every one of them burst into laughter.

“If you lot aren't gonna do anything more interesting than sitting there laughing like magpies, I'm going to bed,” said maid huffed. Eira decided then and there that she would call her Boredom – at least in her own head.

“Keep your pants on, I'm gettin' to it.” Eira ducked her head to hide her smile as grumpy Famine waved a dirty hand in Boredom's direction. “The reason you can't cheat is because there are no rules.” Now _that_ made Eira's head pop right back up, wrinkling her nose in confusion.

“How can you play a game with no rules?” she demanded. “It's impossible.”

“Not even a little bit impossible, darlin'.” Famine's blood-shot, jaundiced eyes sparkled with amusement. “You take this here cup and this here pouch, see?” He held up one in each hand; the bag was larger than it needed to be and the cup was a very odd oval shape. “You scoop the cup inside the pouch – so you don't know how many dice you'll be rolling – and then you hold the cup straight up over the table and tip it. The dice fall straight down and fall where they may.” It seemed simple enough, but there was something in his posture that told her the punchline had yet to be delivered. “Once the dice quit moving, you see where they've fallen. Some will stop in front of you, some in front of me, some in front of Hunger or Stumble. Now you get to count up the total for your own score, but we get to add the ones that fell in front of us to ours.”

Eira had to concede that was just a little bit brilliant.

“All right, we get the rules, old man. Let's go.” Reaching over to grab the pouch and cup from an unresisting Famine, Boredom fumbled through the scoop and finally managed to dump the cup over their table. Five dice spilled out, three in front of Hunger and two in front of Ganglati.

“I'll keep score,” Eira offered, pulling a scrap of paper and a stick of charcoal from her belt pouch. “I like numbers.” No one had demanded that little explanation, but she felt it was required all the same. “So that's … nine for Hunger, six for Gan and fourteen for Boredom.” There was a stifling silence following her count and Eira froze. “Did I count wrong or – oh.” Shit. She'd slipped and used 'Boredom' out loud like an idiot. She could feel her face heating up with embarrassment. “I'm so sorry I -” she tried to apologize, but was cut off by the sound of Hunger losing control over smothered laughter. Looking around, Eira saw Stumble with his face down on his arms, shoulders shaking silently. Famine had one hand over his mouth and even gentle Ganglati couldn't quite hide a smile.

The only one who _didn't_ look amused was Boredom. She looked … well, bored. “Whatever, could we just get on with it?” she drawled in the kind of nasal voice that would always remind Eira of spoiled teenagers sporting black.

Nevertheless, they did 'get on with it' and Eira found herself lost in the simple enjoyment of playing a fun game with good friends. An hour into their pastime, Boredom went to bed, leaving just the five of them to play. Another hour in, Eira looked down into her half-empty cup of metallic water and sighed wistfully.

“Do we ever have anything but water to drink?” she asked suddenly, interrupting a debate between Famine and Stumble on the merits and drawbacks of the Winchester rifle. There was a deafening silence as Hunger, Famine and Stumble all stared at her while doing remarkable impressions of fish. One by one they turned to Ganglati, who cleared his throat a little uncomfortably.

“Our water comes from the spring and our bread comes from the fields. Nothing else grows here that we _could_ drink.” He laughed quietly and shook his head. “Honestly I never thought about it before.” _That_ was an uncomfortable thought. If no one in this place thought to ask about something more flavorful to drink than water, it said very sad things for their level of imagina-

He didn't say 'we', he said 'I'.

“Oh.”

He said 'I' because no one else _would_ think about it. They had no reason to. All at once it struck Eira very hard that her friends were _not_ just very ugly foreigners from some magic race native to this world. They were her own race, right enough. They were just _dead_. All at once the room started to spin and she was more than a little worried she might be sick right then and there.

All around her the faces of her friends took on similar looks of concern. The faces that belonged to the dead. Apparently she didn't look very well. “I think actually I'll just... go lie down. I don't feel so well.” Scrambling to her feet, she almost tripped over the bench on her way. “Gan, you can keep score for me, can't you?” She offered him a smile that she hoped looked less fake than it felt. “Night guys.”

They didn't have time to finish their good nights before the skinny blonde girl was out of the room.

 

 

Eira really did feel ill. She did not, however, go to bed. Instead, she ran. She ran so she wouldn't have time to over-analyze the fact that her face was wet and her nose was alarmingly full. She ran through hallways and passages she should have recognized, but didn't. They all blended together into one dark blur. It didn't occur to her until she slammed into a pair of large mahogany doors that she'd been using the shadows without even thinking about it. That thought scared her even more. Wrenching open one of the doors, she darted inside and pulled hard until she heard the oddly resonant thud that meant she was closed in. Leaning heavily against the intricately-carved wood, she slid slowly down into a heap, her gasping breaths turning very quickly into broken, terrified sobs.

She cried hard, whether for a few moments or a few hours she could not say. All she knew is that eventually she exhausted her reserves of energy, her sobs softening into shaking limbs and quiet desperation. It was at that moment she felt the _whoosh_ of air and lack of support that meant the doors behind her had flung open. Unlike her own entry, this motion was smooth, effortless – as well as silent.

It wasn't that she was no longer scared or even that she'd made peace with the guilt that accompanied her fear. It was simply that she no longer had the energy to do anything about it. She slumped over when the door no longer propped her up, but she did not try to lift herself from the ground or flee from whoever had found her. She simply closed her eyes tight and prayed that if something ate her that they'd at least have enough mercy to kill her first.

She was not killed, she was not eaten. She was not even chewed on – not even a lick. She _was_ scooped up in strong arms and cradled with frightening tenderness against a warm, solid chest. She didn't fight this either. For the first time since she fell into Menia's mine shaft those months ago, Eira felt the full weight of her situation and just exactly how alone and helpless she actually was. She must have cringed or made some sound, because a familiar voice softly hushed her and she realized there was light coming from somewhere, like a fire had been lit. Grabbing hold of the last shreds of her courage with both hands, she sniffed hard to keep her nose from dripping and lifted her head shakily to look into the face of her captor. Emerald met peridot and Eira tried very hard not to shake when she spoke.

“They're dead.” There was something indescribably sad in his eyes, and Eira told herself that she was stupid to feel sorry for Loki the Destroyer in her current situation.

“Yes, they are.” His voice was little more than a breath and there was an element of caution in the way he held her and looked at her, like he was afraid that if he made the wrong move she would shatter into a thousand pieces.

“All of them?” Her voice was pitiful even to her own ears and she couldn't say for certain that she _wouldn't_ shatter.

He smiled, but it was a small one. “No, not all. I took Ganglati from some filthy little chapel in France when he was very small.” That sounded bad, but given Eira's knowledge of lore concerning deformed Parisians, she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt on this one.

“Why?” He chuckled softly, but the mirth did not reach the darkness in his eyes.

“Why did I take him or why are the rest of my servants dead?”

“Both, I suppose.” Even her voice sounded wet and she shifted her weight enough to wipe her cheeks off on her sleeve. She was _not_ quite gone enough to wipe her nose there like a child, but she did sniff deeply again to keep from becoming more of a mess than she already was. She didn't know why she was trying to make herself more presentable, only that it hurt to see as much pain and sorrow as she saw in him now.

“I took Ganglati because he had a sharp mind and those _peasants_ would have wasted it.” Eira was surprised by the venom in Loki's voice and by the fierce set to his jaw, but one look at the fire in his eyes – a fire which couldn't chase away the shadows – and she had to hide her own face against his chest to hide her smile. She knew that look. She'd seen it on the faces of every one of her brothers at one time or another. Whether he knew it or not, Loki was protective of her quiet friend. In a moment of wisdom, Eira decided to keep that to herself. “And as for the others... To be honest, what did you think Helheim _was_ , princess?” For once that name didn't have the sting of derision or mockery that it usually carried. It sounded almost like an endearment.

“I don't know,” she admitted, feeling tears of frustration welling behind her eyes again. “I'm not exactly a scholar of Norse mythology, you know. I knew Helheim was the realm of the dead, but this place doesn't have a queen, it has you. And no one said anything about dwarves being proper human size either, so I figured what I might have heard came from people who got it wrong. As usual,” she added under her breath, a little irritated that nothing in her extensive and costly education had prepared her for any of this.

He was making those little shushing noises again and when he shifted her to reach over with one hand and push her hair out of her face, she realized they were sitting down. From the direction of the heat against her back and side, she guessed they were probably sitting in her armchair. Unless, of course, he'd taken her _out_ of the library. She didn't think she'd been carried that far, but she wasn't exactly in a fit state to be observing much.

“You stupid child,” he breathed out on a sigh with suspiciously fond exasperation. “You really are from Midgard, aren't you?” She nodded against his chest. “And you truly have no idea how you ended up in a mineshaft under Alfheim?” She shook her head, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat and doing her level best not to cry again.

“I've forgotten so much since I've been here,” she admitted. “I know I had five brothers, but I can't remember their names. I can't remember my father's face or my mother's voice. I can't remember what ice cream tastes like.” His grip on her tightened almost imperceptibly and once more she felt a cold line of fear in her chest.

“Can you solve this for me?” he asked after a moment of thoughtful silence, reaching the hand not wrapped around her upper back to trace symbols of silver fire in the air in front of her face. She squinted at it for a bit, chewing on her lower lip. It wasn't something she immediately recognized, but it was familiar. Lifting her own hand, she brushed against the silver fire, pushing and twisting it to change the symbol just slightly. There! She pulled her hand back to lay the palm against his chest again, soothed by the pulse she could feel beneath her fingers.

“Now I can,” she answered softly, looking up into his face. She paused, confused by the wide-eyed stare and clenched jaw that met her little alteration. “The... the answer is seven, now.” He didn't respond or even blink. It made her nervous. “I'm sorry, was I not supposed to change anything? I'm always doing that, forever teachers marking me down because instead of answering just what they'd asked, I'd changed something to make it answerable and that wasn't what they wanted and I-” Eira found that further words were stopped by fingertips laid against her lips. Only once he was sure of her silence did Loki pull them back to wipe away the symbols that were still glittering in the air between them.

“No, princess, you solved it right.” He sounded thoughtful. “How many bones are in your wrist?”

“Eight.”

“What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?” That made Eira laugh a little.

“The finch, the sparrow and the lark,” she replied, earning a sudden bright and breathtaking smile from the face so close to her own.

“What shape does carbon take to make flesh?” She thought that one over for a moment.

“Can you make more of that glittery stuff?” she asked.

“Aren't you able to?” Both his brows lifted toward his hairline, expression incredulous. Hers was equally as stunned.

“No, of course not. Why would I be?” That answer didn't seem to please him much, but he complied, holding a cupped hand full of silver fire for her. Dipping her fingertips in it, Eira began the painstaking process of drawing the structures for all twenty of the basic amino acids in the air between them. Finished, she turned to face Loki and almost swore she caught a flash of something approaching awe on his face. It vanished so quickly, however, that whatever it was she did not get a very good look.

“It would seem that your mind is intact. Your knowledge is … impressive for a mortal so young.”

“I spent a very long time being educated,” she admitted. “All of us are in school for thirteen years, but to train to become a-a healer you have to attend at least seven more years and sometimes more.” She tripped over 'healer'. For a moment she wanted to say something else, but it slipped her mind and she recovered admirably in her own estimation. Loki seemed suitably impressed – or at the very least, surprised.

“You spent almost a full quarter of your lifespan gaining the knowledge you needed to heal?” She blushed a little, shifting to try and sit up a little straighter. He allowed it, raising her to a more upright position leaning against his chest and shoulder. She thought that she probably should get out of his lap, now that she was no longer on the knife's edge of hysteria, but it was warm and comfortable and safe. She did not want to examine these things too closely and so she chose to focus on his query instead.

“Well, I cheated a little,” she admitted. If Eira didn't know any better, she would have said he looked a little impressed.

“How did you manage that?”

“I skipped two years in the middle. I would have skipped over more if the rules didn't say a maximum of two. I read voraciously as a child. The years where they were trying to catch everyone up to me were the most miserable I ever spent there. It almost taught me to hate learning because it was so boring the way they did it. Over and over and over until I didn't care anymore and wanted to smash my face against a wall.” Realizing she was rambling, Eira shut her mouth with a click. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I usually only get ramble-y around Sarah. I don't know what's gotten into me.”

“Who – or what – is this 'Sarah'?”

Eira blushed again. “My best friend since forever,” she answered him, feeling a bit bad for saying it like he should just know. “She's loud and bold and not afraid of anything.” A soft smile touched her lips. “She's … uncomplicated, my Sarah, but she's got a good heart and she's the closest thing to a sister I ever had.” She laughed at that, but quickly sobered as her memory carried her to more recent places. “She was with me, I think. In the fire before I fell.” Her lower lip got suck back into her mouth to be worried between her teeth in a nervous gesture. “She's not stupid or anything, but she does have a particular talent for getting herself into messes I have to pull her out of.” Lifting her head just a little from Loki's shoulder, she stared blankly into the fire. “I was kinda hoping that's why I was here. To find her stupid ass and drag her back home.” That thought led her to another and she collapsed back against Loki in a fit of semi-hysterical giggles. The self-proclaimed God of Mischief was, understandably, confused.

“Did I miss a punchline?” he drawled, eyeing the giggling girl in his lap with a mixture of fondness and exasperation.

“No, no, I'm sorry.” Eira took a deep breath, lost control over one more giggle and then cleared her throat. “I was just thinking. If she _did_ fall with me, she probably would have done something stupid like tell poor Menia she belonged to Thor or some such nonsense and then we'd really be fucked.” Something about that must have been entertaining at least a little, because Loki had a rather satisfied smile when he looked down at her. She tried her very best not to yawn in his face.

Feeling fatigue slip up on her as quickly as it always seemed to do here, Eira nuzzled into the soft place where Loki's neck met his shoulder and released a comfortable sigh. All was quiet for a time, save the soft sounds of Loki's heartbeat and both their breathing. She'd almost slipped fully into sleep when a quiet question tickled at the edge of her awareness.

“Would you really rather be here than Asgard? Thor's palace at Bilskirnir is quite beautiful.”

“Definitely here,” she answered sleepily, muttering the words against the skin at his neck. “Beautiful is nice, but a city full of warriors would be Bad News Bears for me.” Soft laughter rumbled pleasantly under her ear.

“Oh? And why is that?” Eira smiled.

“Because they want to run headfirst at everything. I'd strangle one sooner or later and then I'd have-” a yawn broke her explanation in half, “-all of Asgard on my ass and no offense, but your dad scares me.”

There was a sudden tense stillness. “My father?”

“Yeah, the scary one-eyed guy with the spear and the bad parenting skills.” That rumbling laughter was back. It made Eira smile as she drifted closer to sleep.

“You mean Odin, princess, and he's not my father. We swore the oath of blood-brothers once, but that was a very long time ago.”

“Whatever,” she slurred with a smile. “I told you the mortals got everything wrong.” There was a shifting, a feeling of movement and of something warm pressed against the top of her head.

“Not everything,” he whispered. Eira tumbled headfirst into sleep and knew no more.

 

 

 

_“You know you cannot hide here for much longer, 'my love'.” There was something about the endearment that – even though the voice delivering it was quite possibly the loveliest Eira had ever heard – sounded suspiciously like venom._

_“Sigyn,” a male voice breathed from somewhere very close by. There was surprise in this voice, as well as a rising tension from it that Eira could_ _**feel** _ _even without being able to see anything. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”_

_The other voice snorted. “As if I know,” she snapped, cold and yet defensive. “You're the one who called for me.”_

_“Did I?” the male replied, sounding distant and only mildly curious. There was a slight pause which didn't feel very comfortable even to the outside observer. “I suppose I must have. Margaret never would have allowed you in otherwise.” There was a feminine gasp and Eira had the weird mental image of a slow, malicious smile. “Did you not know, 'my pet'?” The male spat out this endearment much like his beautiful companion had before him. “Shall I ring the bell? We can all have a lovely little reunion right here in my library.”_

_“Stop!” There was something desperate in the lady's voice there that sounded almost choked. “Just get to the point, Silvertongue.” That name drew a recoil from the other speaker than Eira imagined she could almost feel. Instinctively, Eira reached out to offer comfort, humming the kind of soothing noises she used when Sleipnir or Hvitna was particularly jumpy. She wasn't sure whether or not it worked, but she did feel both beings become painfully still._

_“So,” the lady spat. “Is that your newest plaything?”_

_“No,” the man replied quickly. “Just a new arrival. Don't wake her,” he ordered softly. Whether because of this command or something else entirely, the lady was silent for a long time._

_“If you could have showed your wife_ _**half** _ _the kindness you give the dead, you'd still have a wife.”_

_“I did,” he replied, sounding heartbreakingly sad. “She just couldn't understand.” There was another long silence and Eira wondered if she'd drifted out of this dream into something new. “One of the new arrivals may have gotten … lost on the way. There's something wrong with the passage. This one landed in a mineshaft under Alfheim.” It was hard to follow any kind of conversation when she couldn't see the faces involved, but her dreams had always been bizarre, Eira reasoned. Another very feminine gasp brought her focus back, because that was hard to misinterpret. “I have reason to believe another may have arrived in Bilskirnir.” There was suitably awed silence at this revelation. “I cannot cross the Bifrost into Asgard and the old branches are closed to me now.” Another pause stretched in the warm stillness. “Will you be my eyes once more, victory-bringer?” For once there was no trace of mockery in his voice._

_“Yes.” The response from the lady was tight and strained, but did not waver._

_“Thank you.”_

_“But I will not hold the cup for you this time, Silvertongue. Have a care how you proceed.”_

_The creak of heavy wooden doors sounded the departure of the lady and a soft breeze moving against Eira's face before she sunk into something sinfully soft. She shivered against the sudden chill but settled as warmth and safety once again drew around her shoulders. It was not long before she fell back into the deep blackness of restful slumber._

 

 


	4. Aldrnari

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “People can get used to just about anything in time, but nothing ever goes back to the way it was, Gan. I know more now and knowledge... knowledge changes things. It always changes things.”

 

The next morning Eira awoke somewhere new. It took her a few moments to realize what had changed, most likely because one of those changes made it very difficult to want to fully wake. The bed on which she lay was incredibly soft. It molded itself around each bend and curve in her body until it felt like she was sleeping on a cloud. It was absolutely brilliant until her sleep-muddled brain realized that it wasn't her cot – and, moreover, why it was _important_ that it wasn't her cot. With the force of that thought behind her, she shot straight up in bed, looking around her wildly to try and get a sense of her surroundings.

The room she was in was large and elegant. The bed was carved from ebony and was large enough for five of her to sleep in easily. The other end of the room was taken up by a massive fireplace. Shelves of books lined the inside walls and a few items of elegant furniture filled the remaining floor space, but it was to the outside wall that her attention was drawn. Huge windows looked out on the forest meadow where she often took the hounds to play. Wrapping the coverlet around herself as a shield against the chill, Eira slid out of bed and padded on quiet feet to lean against one of the window frames.

Viewing it from such a height brought stark reality to something she'd never even given thought to, before. Despite the constant blackness of the sky above, she had never wanted for light to see by. Looking down, she could see why. The ground, the grass, the trees, all things gave off a soft glow so that all of them together made the world at their level seem nearly as bright as day. It was a realization that – for someone so intrinsically bound to a world where light came from above, not below – was nauseating. Rolling her body so that her back rested against the stone between two of the windows, Eira closed her eyes and willed the twisting in her stomach to settle.

Before she could get much in the way of her bearings, there was a knock at the door. She did not have either the time to formulate a response or the presence of mind to try before it was pushed open. Oddly enough, she didn't see anyone in the doorway before it snicked shut once again. Footsteps retreated that she _thought_ sounded an awful lot like Ganglati's uneven gait, but the sound was so muffled that she couldn't be sure. Sinking down to sit against the wall, wrapped in and dwarfed by the downy coverlet, Eira heaved a heavy sigh and tried her best to remember how she got here.

“There you are.” The sharp sound of Griet's voice startled her out of her thoughts before she could make much progress. Jerking her head up, Eira saw the intimidating form of her taskmistress standing just inside the doors, though she hadn't heard the woman open them, walk in or close them behind her. “You missed the morning feeding.” The word _again_ was left unsaid, but given the piercing stare she was getting, Eira had no doubt that it was not forgotten.

“I'm sorry,” she blurted out, stumbling over the two simple words as her brain attempted to shove whole ideas out of her mouth at one time. Three deep breaths were enough to still the torrent. “I don't know how I got here, but I didn't mean any disrespect I promise.” The long silence that followed her explanation made Eira more nervous than anything Griet could have said to fill it.

“You have been removed from the work roster,” Griet began stiffly, making Eira's heart pound a frightened tattoo as she recalled the threat of what happens to those who do not fulfill their purpose.

“So I've been cast out?” she asked, hating herself just a little bit for how weak her voice sounded. Griet took her time in answering, hawk-like eyes staring so hard at Eira that she was sure every fault was being counted.

“No,” she answered finally, sounding none too pleased about it. “Your time is to be spent studying, now.”

“What?” Yes, because _that_ was a brilliant, educated response. _Well done_ , she thought to herself. “Studying what?” Griet's eyes narrowed, glaring at Eira as if trying to determine the sincerity of her inquiry.

“I was not told. The Yetfather will oversee your education.” She looked down at Eira's coverlet-wrapped shape and sniffed. “I would suggest you start by getting dressed.” Eira looked down in confusion, only to realize that she wore nothing beneath the warm blanket she'd wrapped herself in. No wonder she'd felt a chill without it. Looking back to ask Griet about this particular mystery, Eira was shocked to find she'd gone. Huffing out a muttered string of curses, she hauled herself to her feet and went about the business of finding her clothes.

It was easier said than done. One of the interesting tricks of this place, Eira had noticed, was that no one ever changed what they wore. She figured it had something to do with the bath-naps. No matter how dirty she was from the day, she would wake up as fresh as if she'd just stepped out of the shower. It was convenient, she supposed, but she did occasionally miss the comfort of a hot bath after a long day. She expected, therefore, to find her clothes somewhere nearby. No matter how many drawers she opened or how many fine garments she sorted through in the wardrobes, she could find no trace of her comfortable dwarf-make clothes.

Finally giving up, she collapsed in a heap of comforter and limbs, staring up at the open wardrobe full of finery with an irritated scowl. “I just need something _simple_ ,” she told the empty room, feeling her frustration and confusion bubbling up in her throat. A soft 'pop' heralded the appearance of a lightweight white gown and pewter accoutrements laid out on a nearby chair. Eira pouted, then glared – at who or what, even she wasn't sure. “Could have said something _before_ I went on a goose chase,” she grumbled to herself, standing up and reaching for the gown. It slid over her head easily, the wide sleeves matching the wide, shapeless form of the whole garment. Only once she had it settled in what she guessed was the right fashion did she turn her attention to the metal bits that had been left beneath it.

One was a corset of the under-the-bust variety and the others looked like too-big bracelets and a weird necklace. Looking at all of it, Eira would have sworn it would be as heavy as wearing armor, but upon inspection found that the metal – though stiff and uncompromising – was lighter than a thick jumper. Fastening the corset around her middle, however, was not as simple as she would have liked. For a good fifteen minutes she wrestled with the damn thing, only to end up losing her balance and falling to an undignified sprawl on the floor. She groaned and pushed herself back upright, noting a few places that were certain to be bruised by bedtime. “For the love of little green dragons, how are you supposed to _work_?”

Again, as if summoned up by her demand, some outside power lifted the pieces off the ground, opening the corset and placing it snugly against her middle only to fasten a series of clicking clasps up one side. The bracelets opened too, but instead of sitting at her wrists – where Eira was sure they'd slip off every time she moved – they closed with clicks of their own around her upper arms, just above the elbow. The necklace slid gently around her throat, coming to rest with the open end against her clavicles. She thought that was odd, seeming to remember that jewelry opened at the back of her neck. Or did it? She couldn't really remember and the magic seemed to know more about this than she did, at any rate.

She turned to examine the results in the wardrobe's door-length mirror and saw that the pewter accents gave a rather lovely silhouette to the otherwise shapeless gown. Her hair was wild with curls and snarls from her sleep and she thanked whatever deities happened to listen in this place that whatever had happened to her clothes had left her elastics around her wrist. Using one, she quickly swept her hair up into a twist that would keep it out of her way and nodded at her reflection, pleased.

Removed from the roster she may have been, but since Griet hadn't been very forthcoming on the nature of these 'studies' and there was no sign of the palace's master about, Eira decided that she'd rather be busy while she waited. Busy could mean time in the library or the menagerie. Too many people came and went in the library, she reasoned, and even if she was left alone she was hardly in the mental state to focus on any of the books. Besides, if Griet was correct, she'd probably be spending a _lot_ of time buried in books from now on. Might as well take one last chance to enjoy some fresh air and exercise. This decision was only momentarily delayed by the realization that she had no shoes. Eira was far too stubborn to admit defeat over that. She hardly felt the cold anyway, now that she was dressed.

Walking into the pasture felt like coming home. Eire lifted her fingers to her lips and whistled three long notes out into the open air. She listened carefully and smiled as she heard the sound of hoofbeats thudding dully from the other side of the hill. The herd of equines crested the hill and rushed down to meet and greet her in the same rush of nips and whuffs and sniffs and snorts and head-butting that even half an hour's stay away brought on. She was surrounded on all sides by unicorns, winged horses, eight-legged mares and their foals and even a hippogryph or two. It was a muddled mess of welcome and honest, warm acceptance. One of the young stallions – impish in demeanor and believing she was not paying _him_ enough attention – lifted his muzzle to tug playfully at the twist holding her hair in place. It didn't hurt enough to scold him for, but it left Eira's hair flying out behind her in the stiff breeze. She found Hvitna in the sea of bodies and spent a moment saying polite hellos while attempting to twist her hair back into some semblance of order. Her focus, therefore, wasn't on the figure approaching with a bale of hay thrown over one shoulder or the bits of the herd that were wandering over to inspect said food.

“You look like one of the Valkyries, standing there.” The voice was quiet, sad and definitely unexpected. It made Eira whirl around, pressing her back against Hvitna's warm barrel. The mare, for her part, twisted her head around to look at Eira and then at their visitor, snorted and tossed her head at the antics of silly two-leggers, and settled down to the all-important business of grazing.

“Gan,” she breathed, watching him with a mixture of guilt and wariness as he dropped the bale of hay and cut the twine that bound it so that he could kick and shake it loose for the herd to eat.

“I'm sorry,” he said after a minute, his usually soft voice sounding loud and awkward in the silence between them. Swallowing, he tried again. “I thought you knew. This place, them... me. We've all been here so long that we can't remember a time when we _didn't_ know.” There was remorse in his poor twisted face, along with fear and something approaching desperation.

“It's alright,” Eira tried to reassure him. It was a valiant effort, but it sounded weak even to her own ears. “I... I should have asked.” Despite everything, she wasn't selfish enough to slough off all the blame. “I just...” Her shoulders slumped forward as she trailed off into silence. “I used to be so curious about everything, Gan. I used to pester everyone I knew with questions until they'd go mad. If I'd come here when I was younger I _would_ have asked. I'd have shot off questions a mile a minute until Griet got sick of me and locked me in my room for a night or two.” She smiled a little at the thought and Ganglati smiled back – he couldn't help it, though the expression was a sad one. “But somewhere along the way I learned to stop asking questions. I don't know when or why or how, I just did. It was easier that way, I guess.

“I'm not saying it's an excuse and I won't blame any of you for being mad at me, but it means that when I don't ask and things creep up and bite me I... it takes me some time to get around them.” She didn't know what else to say. She didn't know the _right_ thing to say to explain her irrational fear of the people she'd been living and laughing with for months and it was going to make her crazy.

“I understand,” he answered her quietly, that sad, bittersweet smile going a bit crooked. Somehow that made it all the worse. “Yours is a time without magic and your life's work is as one who prevents death. How awful it must be to be so saturated in it while helpless to stop it.” There was an edge of irony to his voice. It made Eira's chest ache to listen to it. “You know, though, that none of us would ever hurt you?” That edge of desperation was back and she had to screw her eyes shut against it. She nodded. “Then maybe once... once you've had time to-to adjust, then we can go back to the way things were.” He was so hopeful that she almost nodded again just to erase the bitterness and the fear, but Loki's voice echoed inside her head and she almost broke into a sob there and then.

_I make it a habit not to lie to people I live with._

“People can get used to just about anything in time, but nothing ever goes back to the way it was, Gan. I know more now and knowledge... knowledge changes things. It always changes things.”

“Sometimes it changes things for the better.” Those quiet words each stabbed her between the ribs, each one a red-hot reminder of how he could be right if only she was a different person, a better one. Eira held painfully still as the lopsided gait retreated into the distance, then swung up on Hvitna's back and pleaded into her mane to be taken anywhere. She didn't care where, just that they went far away and very fast. For once, the haughty old unicorn didn't put up a fuss. She simply plunged forward into the eerily-lit darkness.

And if Eira cried at all on the journey, the wind swallowed the sound and blew away the tracks on her face. Her only witness was Hvitna and she seemed inclined to keep her peace.

 

 

 

When Eira returned to the castle, it was silent and still. She had no idea how long they'd been gone. Her ability to tell the passage of time here had gotten no better. Padding through the hallways on cold bare feet, she walked quietly into the library and looked toward the fire.

“You're late.” Loki's voice was cold, but unmistakable nonetheless.

“I know.” Eira felt indescribably old and worn down. If she just acquiesced, this could be over quickly and she could go to bed.

“Have you no excuse for yourself? Where were you?”

“Why do you ask questions you already know the answers to?” Apparently her mouth could even get her into trouble while exhausted. Though she knew her fatigue had drained any life or fight from the words, they could still spark a fire she didn't want to deal with.

“Because I want to see what answers _you'll_ give, of course.” The patience with which the self-proclaimed God of Lies answered her cheek was new. The _arrogance_ in it was not.

“I was riding. No, I have no excuse.” Her tone must have been flat indeed for it pierced the cloak of self-absorbency that seemed to perpetually wrap her companion away from the rest of them – enough so that he stood and turned to face her with a critical eye.

“What is wrong with you?” he demanded, his tone beginning to sound petulant. Perversely, the question – or maybe it was the answer, she wasn't certain – made her smile just a little.

“I'd forgotten how to question things.” It was cryptic enough to make Loki look at her sideways. Somewhere in a distant part of her mind, she felt oddly proud of that fact.

“Really? You seem quite adept at questioning everything _I_ do.” Obviously he recovered quickly and Eira had to give him that point. She certainly did seem to have no problem at all in demanding he answer to his claims and actions.

“I know. I don't know why. Maybe if I did know, I could have my friends back.”

“What do you mean 'back'? Stupid child, they haven't _gone_ anywhere.” He was losing patience with her, she could tell. She was trying very hard to find the energy to care. If he killed her, at least she'd have no more reason to fear anything here. She might even fit better. The thought made her laugh a little.

“No, but I have.” She turned to look at him, then, drained and empty and overwhelmed and tired almost to the point of nonsense. “Knowledge _always_ changes things.” She turned away again. “If they don't hate me now, they will soon. And they should. If I weren't such a coward, I wouldn't care that they're dead and everything would be alright.”

“So stop being a coward, then.” The cool indifference with which he said it was what snapped her sanity. As if it were truly as easy as changing a gown or choosing a new wine with dinner.

“It's not that simple!” she shouted at him suddenly, taking a step forward so that they were almost chest to chest. It meant that she had to tilt her head back at an uncomfortable angle to keep eye contact, but she was beyond caring. “I can't just change who I am like a hat or a scarf, you know! Maybe it's easy for gods and zombies and whatever the hell else you are, but all I am human and we _lowly mortals_ have to just learn to accept that we can't change a damn thing, least of all ourselves!”

“How do you know?” he inquired calmly. “Have you ever tried?” The fact that she was shouting at him and he was speaking as if they were having a nice tea and discussing the weather made her furious.

“Of _course_ I've tried. I tried so hard I made myself sick! It did no good then and it'll do no good now.”

“I see,” he replied, his voice still maddeningly unruffled. “Well, if you can't do it, you can't do it, obviously.” Something wicked glinted in his eye, but Eira didn't have a chance to categorize it before she was distracted by the next thing to come out of his mouth. “But don't blame it on being _human_ , princess. I've known plenty of 'mere mortals' who've changed grander fates than their own. This inability isn't down to your mortal roots, I'm afraid. This is – what is that charming expression? – all on you.” And to add insult to injury, he even smiled pityingly down at her.

In spectacular fashion, Eira well and truly lost her temper.

With an inhuman scream, she shoved his chest hard. In a more rational state of mind, she would have realized that she could have done no such thing, but in the moment all she could feel was a sick kind of joy that she'd made him step back. At the same time as she'd shoved, however, the flames inside the fireplace roared with new life, flaring up and engulfing Loki right where he stood after having been shoved.

Paradoxically, watching the God of Mischief go up in flames threw cold water over Eira's temper. She could only stand there and watch in muted horror as a man-shaped torch stood and burned before her very eyes. Mercifully, it didn't go on long. While she stood rooted to the spot, the fire quickly consumed the fabric, leather and metal Loki had been wearing, leaving him standing stark naked in the library and grinning at her with the most satisfied expression she'd ever seen.

“And that, princess, was your very first lesson,” he crowed, praising her like a puppy who'd piddled on the newspapers. He seemed very comfortable in his own skin, stepping back into her personal space without hesitation or modesty. One hand raised to grip the back of her neck in a fond gesture whose implications Eira was sure went right over her head. He used that grip as a leverage point, tugging her forward just enough to rest his forehead against hers. “You did _very_ well,” he whispered, released her and stepped back.

The only thing Eira could say in response was, “Can I go to bed, now?” which, under the circumstances, showed a remarkable clarity of mind and not in any way a dullness of wit. At least, that's what she told herself.

“But of course, sleep well. I'll see you in the morning.”

 

 

 

The next day started out as a vague repeat of the last. Eira woke up to find that the magic wardrobe had already laid out her clothes for the day and that there was a tray of breakfast on the table by the fire. Realization hit her when she saw the bread. With all the excitement she hadn't remembered to eat at all the day before and she was starved. Rising with a stretch, she went about the business of getting dressed – a deep indigo gown this time, shaped by the same pewter corset and arm bands – and then quite happily settled herself down to eat.

The bread was not dry and stale as she had become used to in her time with the servants. It was pale and soft and still warm as if straight from the oven. It was the most delicious thing she could remember tasting in such a very long time that she didn't even care that her drink was still just plain water.

Breakfast over, she decided that it was probably wise to look in on the library first. If it was empty, she could decide what to do with the rest of her day from there, but she did not want to spark another fight by being late. She honestly seemed to do a good enough job of that simply by being present.

She crept through the halls, bare feet making no noise on the smooth and polished stone. Using the shadows like they were extensions of her body made the journey across the vast palace easy. The inky portals tickled at her wrists and ankles like eager puppies and the cool drafts played in her hair and her skirt. It was all so weightless and familiar that by the time she spun out of the shadows and into the library she had half forgotten the troubles of the last few days. The room was empty and she hummed to herself as she went along the outer wall and opened the windows to let in the breeze. There was a tune stuck in her head, light and playful as the wind and the shadows. With no one to see her, she let the melody carry her into silliness, each motion she made falling into rhythm until she spun and twirled in a dance that made her laugh at the pure joy of movement. Eira was so carried away in her own head that she spun to stand face to face with the palace's master before even realizing she had company.

“Oh,” she breathed, falling back a step with her foot pointed to the side.

“So you're in a better mood today, princess? How refreshing.” Loki was smiling, but Eira couldn't read his tone or expression at all.

“What? I only... oh.” And like stepping out of a steamy bath into colder, clearer air, memory returned and Eira's face fell. “I... forgot.” And that irritated her, because she _shouldn't_ have.

Loki laughed at her, which only made her brow furrow deeper, but he didn't seem to care. He grasped the back of her neck and kissed her forehead before moving to a table near the windows. “It is the magic inherent to Helheim,” he explained, trailing one finger down a stack of books only to end up selecting the bottom one. “For the dead, memory is often a painful burden and so all who live here are slowly stripped of it.”

Eira's was horrified and the look on her face made no secret of that fact. “Being stripped of what makes you who you are doesn't sound like much of a blessing to me,” she argued staunchly. Loki shrugged, as if he really didn't care one way or the other.

“It's not like you stop being you,” he replied, flipping the pages of the book he'd selected and scanning each page intently. “Well,” he corrected, “not for a very, _very_ long time, anyway. You don't lose the knowledge, really, your mind simply ceases to dwell on it. If you _lost_ the knowledge, you wouldn't have known to tell me that seven raised to itself becomes forty-nine.”

Eira frowned, but even she with all her tendency to argue with him over the littlest thing, had to admit that it made sense.

“How long is a 'very, very long time'?” she asked instead.

“Far longer than twice any mortal lifespan, don't fret. Here,” he pointed to something in his book and stepped closer so that she could see it. “Do you know what these are?” Eira had to stand on tiptoe to see over his arm, but she dutifully studied the markings drawn on the page.

“I don't think so. They look like maybe something I saw once, but I certainly don't know what they mean.” Reading Loki's mood from his face was not at all an exact science, but Eira guessed he appeared thoughtful, but he shrugged off the emotion and moved on before she had time enough to really say.

“These are runes, princess. They're like letters in that each one stands for a sound, but they're different in that each one also has meaning just by itself. Like, see here.” He tilted to book toward her and pointed to a symbol that looked like someone had taken a capitol F and bent both of the sideways lines down to a 45 degree angle. “This one is Ansuz, it stands for the letter 'A' like in Aesir, but also stands for magic and faith, the mysteries of the universe and the pursuit of them through learning.”

Eira tilted her head to one side and stared at the strange marking. “Ansuz,” she repeated, startling herself when the breath she expelled to make the sounds shimmered in front of her face like the silver fire he'd conjured for her to write in the air with.

There was no mistaking this expression – Loki was _pleased_. “I thought as much. You could not have manipulated my _aldrnari_ if you did not have it yourself.”

“Your what? What have I got?” Eira couldn't squish the stab of fear that ran through her chest. Whatever that word was sounded too much like a disease for her comfort.

“Your _aldrnari_ , princess.” Now he was looking at her like she was stupid, again. It riled up her temper like a stick to a sleeping dragon. “Your fire, the inner spark that makes magic possible. It is a rare gift. I have it – though I am the only Aesir who does – and so do you.” He paused as if some thought had just occurred to him and turned toward her, stepping into her personal space and looming over her while staring at her face. “Are you absolutely _certain_ you hail from Midgard?”

“I think I'd know if I came from anywhere else!” Eira huffed. “And seeing as I'm stuck here anyway, I've got no reason to lie about it now, have I?” The look he was giving her was odd and intense in a very scientist-and-specimen kind of way. It frightened Eira just as much as it annoyed her.

“The reasons for lies take many shapes and colors, princess.” There was an eerie gravity to the quiet way he said that. It sent unpleasant shivers down her spine. Grasping at some different topic, she turned the tables and questioned him this time.

“How long have you lived here?” It seemed like a harmless enough question. It even made him smile.

“More years than your little mortal mind could fathom. Thousands.” Loki was, in fact, so smug about that answer that it put more challenge into Eira's next words than she'd really intended.

“How much have you forgotten?”

Eira watched him stiffen and straighten in all his haughty superiority. “I am a god, an Aesir of Asgard. The magics in this place bend to my whim, not shackle my mind like a _mortal_.”

And for once, Eira didn't argue. She'd seen the flash of emotion in his sharp emerald eyes before his arrogance and smoothed over it all. It might have been pain or it might have been fury, but in either case, it was enough to keep her from pushing any further – at least right now.

“Take this book,” he instructed, moving past the incident as if it had never occurred. “Study these runes until you know them better than your own name.” Eira took the book from him and nodded. The prospect of new knowledge tickled at her like an old addiction she had neglected for too long. “I have business in Vanaheim. If I am satisfied with your progress upon my return, I will teach you how to shape your _aldrnari_ into useful tools.”

Eira looked up from the book in her hands, something very like excitement glinting in her eyes. “When will you be back?” There was a similar look of anticipation in Loki's face – or at least, she thought there was – but he was not going to satisfy her curiosity. Instead of a proper answer, he merely showed off his crooked grin and swept a graceful bow in her direction.

“Soon, princess. Soon.” And then he was gone.

Eira stared contemplatively at the space he'd occupied, but not even the fickle nature of her host could keep her away from her new treasure. Dragging her favorite chair closer to one of the open windows, she curled up into it and began to read.

 

 


End file.
